No Use Empathising with Wolves
by Klippy
Summary: An awkward meeting between two teams. Fairly strong 'M' stuff, Scout x Sniper
1. Chapter 1

Hi guys, this actually my first fanfic.. EVAH. Dun dun. Let me know what you think and if I should do more? Or to leave the realms of the fanfiction world WELL alone? Lol.

Note:: Some changes to the way the game is played have been altered slightly.

I'm also perfectly English, christ knows how a Boston accent properly goes, but I hope I've done it justice.

Rated 'M' for a reason, ye have been warned.

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><p>"YOU FAILED."<p>

The announcers voice thundered in his headphones at a brutal volume, the dreaded two words that every team member recoiled at the sound of. His pistol made a dull snapping sound, and he knew it had been automatically disabled, along with the rest of his weaponry. Fortunately for the Blue Scout, he had found himself distanced from the frenzied blood-bath that was now occurring on ground level as the Red Team sought out his fellow survivors. Not intentionally, of course, it wasn't like him to go into hiding until _after_ all hope was lost, but here he was on the top level of the barracks and not a person in sight. He threw the pistol to the ground angrily and pressed himself into the corner of the room, watching the staircase anxiously, preparing himself for when a Red member would come up in search of vengeful relief.

Footsteps. His spine tingled with bottled-up energy. His fighting spirit was still aflame, and he readied his pitiful fists for combat.

A barmah hat appeared, followed by the rest of the Red Sniper.

Scout made sure the man had noticed him before making his presence undeniable, "yeah, come on then! Fuckin' asshole!" He bellowed, seeing the blade readied in the Snipers hand.

The Sniper observed for a moment, the boy almost bouncing from one foot to the other, bound fists clenched and readied. The knife hung loosely in his grip- it was embarrassingly easy. He had never been one to get excited over the bloodied hysteria at the end of each successful match, par from the occasional headshot when opportunity came at a distance. A quick death, perhaps a little more dignified than if a Pyro had got to them first.

"Jus' do it, already!" Scout spat, the suspense almost as painful as what the blade was going to bring to him.

Sniper snorted, a slight smirk cracking across his face, before he idly thrust the knife back into its sheath. There was a few more minutes left before the match was to be called off completely and his weapons would too be locked and unusable, the remaining Blue survivors would then have the opportunity to retreat back to camp. A Scout wasn't worth much, certainly no trophy hostage to bring back to base. Sniper threw his hand casually towards the Scout, "you're alright, mate." And turned his back to the boy, cascading back down the stairs and headed to camp.

Scout stood frozen on the spot, hands still readied in front of him. A look of perplexity wiped across his face. 'What the fuck was that?' He frowned to himself. The departing footsteps disappeared into the din of gunshots and shouting and he was once again alone in the room. Had he just been saved? Or had the Sniper considered him 'not worth the effort?' His frown deepened as a shot of fury spread across him.

"Jesus fuckin' christ…" he mumbled, lowering his fists and releasing them.

Outside, everything was quietening as the killing spree ended, and a sudden spiteful voice bellowed into his ears, "RETURN TO BASE."

It wasn't often Scout had survived long enough to hear those words. But by no means was it a relief to hear them. Feeling defeated, he made his way back across the barren battlefield. No team members in sight.

3 days passed before the next battle was announced. It was afternoon, but the sun was still searing in the sky; he couldn't feel it though, the base was cool and shielded. The game was King of the Hill, one of Scout's more dreaded missions, but nonetheless he was raring to go like a greyhound in its trap.

"MISSION BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS"

"Do try to keel more zan one enemy at a time today, _mon cher_," the slick voice said next him, teasingly.

Scout glanced up to be sure the insult had been aimed at him, before releasing his retaliation.

"Oh, this comin' from the douchebag who don't even got the balls to show his face when he knifes a guy in the back?" He sized himself up against the Spy, which was futile, really, as he was considerably shorter.

"On ze contrary, at least I can keel a man without 'aving to fire every bullet in ze process," came the swift response between inhalations of cigarette smoke, less playful now.

"You got some fuckin' nerve-"

"Children!" Came the Medic's voice, "try not to destroy each o'zer before the match haz even begun."

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE…"

The gates were opened with a thunderous clang and the team launched into action. Scout, of course, up front- making sure to shove into the Spy on the way past. An explosion of noise surrounded him as he ran, and moments later he was engulfed in the chaos of battle.

Chunks of concrete kicked-up around him as bullets hammered around his feet. Scout dove behind a wall and checked his ammo- shit, barely a handful of bullets left in his pistol and his scattergun was completely dry. He had foolishly made a point of not returning to base to resupply for the sake of proving himself to the Spy, but since starting hadn't come across an ammo pickup once. There was barely enough time to curse himself before a Red Demoman appeared and began launching grenades in his direction. Scout leapt into action and fired what was left in defence, before resorting to his bat. Infuriated, he made a swing at the Red team member, and struck the wooden stick hard across the Demoman's shoulder. The man shouted in pain, and Scout took the opportunity to bludgeon another swing at the head- but it was caught. With incredible force that gave Scout chills, the Demoman gripped the end of the baseball bat and threw it to the floor- before raising his grenade launcher directly in Scout's face. The trigger was pulled and almost immediately Scout ran, narrowly missing as a bomb flew past his head. Running like a madman, he HAD to find ammo.

Bullet's zipped past his ears and debris scattered everywhere as he bolted flat-out across the battlefield in search of a small wooden box. He passed several Red members on his way, who all barely had time to recognise Scout's colour before he was gone again. Before long he was well and truly in the realms of the Red base.

A slim ladder was spotted to the far left, leading discretely into a much higher compartment structure. Scout seized the opportunity- there must be ammo up there, it was so fucking secluded- and made a dash to the ladder. He climbed as fast as he could manage; the bullet's had stopped hammering around him, he was so far from the centre that he was sure nobody could see him. He reached the upper level and sure enough, no ammo pickups. But there was another ladder leading even higher, and Scout- exasperated- climbed that one too. This one lead to a trapdoor, and there was a moments hesitation before he gently lifted it.

He had barely peeked out of the opening when he was staring directly into the barrel of a rifle.

"Whoa, hey, wait!" Scout hollered, as a large boot kicked open the trapdoor from above. "No, see look! I'm not armed! Don't…" He thrust his bandaged hands into the air, almost falling from the ladder as he did so.

It took a few moments, but Scout realised that the rifle belonged to the same Red Sniper as from the previous battle.

"Come on, man, I was just looking for ammo…" he continued, his body completely stiff in preparation for the bullet to be fired.

The rifle was slowly raised and the Sniper drew it back completely, donning a melee knife instead. "You're the kid from before," the Sniper observed, holding the blade out as Scout climbed the rest of the way into the small room.

The room was much like a cows-nest, compact and wooden with a tin roof. A single, thin window had been made in the wall. All around the edges of the room were boxes of aid and other insignificant objects.

"Yeah," Scout responded, anxiously climbing to his feet and closing the trapdoor before he could see himself being thrown back down it. There was a long, almost awkward pause. The blade was still raised but not in an overly offensive fashion, just held there, threateningly. The silence was broken as a bullet flew through the window and resounded off an empty mug that shattered across the floor. The Red Sniper broke into action and scrambled hurriedly onto the floor next to the opening, lifting his rifle to his face.

"Sit the fuck down," he shouted, throwing a stern look to Scout before aligning his eye up to the telescope and going completely still.

Somewhat taken-back by the order, Scout fell into a squat almost automatically, surprising himself with his obedience. The Sniper shot from his rifle, and a loud cracking explosion filled the small wooden room- he reloaded almost as fast as the bullet had emptied the barrel and shot another. He must've hit his target because the Sniper relaxed and leaned back slightly, lowering his rifle and looking at Scout through yellow-tinted aviators.

Entirely lost in the situation, Scout had to remind himself whose base he was in. "We're losing, aint we?" He said, more of a statement than a question.

"Not half," The Sniper exhaled with a hint of a smirk, looking back out the window, "s'far as I'm aware the score is 8-1 to us."

"Well shit…"

"Got that right, boyo."

Another silence. They were becoming increasingly painful as lack of conversation left to plenty of opportunity to make the kill.

"Mind if… y'know… I wade out the last part up 'ere?" Scout realised he was allowing himself to trust the other team member far too much. One act of 'kindness' was no reason to believe that the man was a saint. But it had been the only words he could think of saying at that moment.

Sniper leaned back into position at the window, turning away from Scout and raising the rifle back to his sunglasses. "If you like," he said, "but no bloody earbashin' or funny shit."

Scout took a moment to ponder what was meant by 'earbashin'. Or implied by 'funny shit', for that matter.

"Whatever…" He sat himself down on a crate behind the Sniper.

Another explosion erupted from the rifle and Scout wondered what the fuck he was doing. He was sitting and watching as the man in front picked off his team members like fish in a barrel. He could easily make a move- grab that screwdriver by his feet, thrust it into the Sniper's back. It wouldn't kill but then perhaps he could make a move for the machete attached to his belt- the Sniper surely wouldn't have time to react.

"Um.. hey, thanks for the other day, y'know?" Scout piped up, breaking the 'rules', so to speak, in just minutes of them being informed. He glared down at his own feet sheepishly.

"Don't thank me," Sniper responded with a chuckle, "you jus' looked so bloody pathetic standing there I couldn't bring myself to do it."

Gratuity was replaced with rage and Scout scowled, lifting one foot and kicking it into the Sniper's back, "fuckin' asstard" He growled.

Almost as soon as his shoe made contact with the man in front of him did the rifle swing round and steady directly at the boy's face.

"That kind of shit's what's gonna make me put a bullet directly between yer eyes," Sniper leered, evidently not as sporting of Scout's larking as his own teammates- which was to be fairly expected.

"Alright, alright," He defended, raising his hands again and ducking away from the eye of the barrel.

"Jus' bleedin' aggro…" the sniper mumbled, barely audibly, as he turned back on his perch to face the window once more.

Silence continued throughout for a good 20 minutes, broken only occasionally by the cracking of the rifle. Horrendous at sitting still, Scout repositioned a number of times. Picking objects up and fiddling with them, before throwing them aside leisurely whilst continuously sighing and groaning. He wondered whether it would be worth making a bolt for the trap door. Although, in all fairness, that decision would only land him in more trouble when he reached the ground floor again; ammo-less. The sniper hardly moved, except sometimes to glance back to check on the boy.

'Hostage'-situation or not, Scout couldn't bare the inactivity any longer.

"Hey, gimme a go widda' rifle," he suggested, leaning forwards expectedly, the absurdity of the request lost on him.

Sniper slowly turned to look at him with an almost comical fluidity, an eyebrow cocked as if to say 'you must be joking'. However, he wasn't dismissing the demand, and seemed to even be pondering it. He breathed out a slight laugh before turning his body entirely to face Scout. "Alright then." He extended his arm testingly and handed Scout the heavy weapon.

Scout marvelled at the naivety of the man's decision, little did he know that Sniper was fully confident in the fact that the Scout would be too inept with the rifle to be deemed even the remotest bit threatening.

He took the gun into his arms and almost bounced to his feet, rotating and turning it in his grip to get a good look, all while smiling broadly.

"Yeah but get low," Sniper hissed, shifting off his seat to let the boy take his place. He removed the submachine gun from pocket and placed it by his knee, just to be safe.

"Oh man, our Sniper's never let me hold his rifle before," Scout said gleefully, perching himself on the box by the window. The seat was still incredibly warm. He dramatically leaned forwards until he was almost falling off the front of the crate, holding the scope up to his eye as he peered out onto the battlefield below.

Sniper shifted until he was directly behind Scout, "the stock should be in the pocket of your shoulder," he directed, placing a hand on Scout's right arm and adjusting it until he deemed it satisfactory. "And your cheek should be here…" he added, using one hand to direct Scout's head and the other, the gun, into position.

"Yeah whatever, man, I got this," Scout nudged the hands off him, and pretty much reverted back to the positioning he had started with.

"See if ya' can hit that busted sentry over there," Sniper said, pointing in a particular direction.

"What sentry?" Scout replied impassively, not taking his eyes away, and fired randomly after a Red member, missing so badly he might as well have been firing squarely at the wall. The recoil of the scope rammed into his face.

"Fuck!" Scout yelped, holding a hand to his eye and pushing the rifle away like it were a dangerous animal.

Sniper laughed cruelly, leaning back on his haunches to allow Scout to slip off the crate and retreat back to the wall in pain. It was almost immediately that a scattering of bullets pelted the wooden room- dust and wood fragments flying everywhere. He snatched up the rifle once more and started firing out of the window.

"I think you just gave my fuckin' position away," he growled, firing some more. "Stand on that trapdoor, would ja'?"

Scout paused, the bullets being fired at the building had ceased now.

"Naw see, was your dumb decision to give me the gun, ya'know. You deal with it," he grinned, leaning back against the wall, hands folded behind his head, a rather ridiculous red ring around his right eye.

"Get'yer bloody arse on that door, NOW."

The machete was out again, and that was all the convincing Scout needed to budge. He stood squarely on the door, wondering what would happen if the Heavy were to come crashing through it- would he go flying out the roof?

Twilight fell and the battle was still going. There hadn't been any more attempts to use the rifle, nor attacks on the crows-nest. Scout sat leisurely on the door, legs crossed and playing with his mic. Sniper hadn't shifted once. A bitter cold crept over the land and he realised just how chilly it got when he wasn't running around like a man on fire. After all, he was dressed in a T-shirt. He curled into a ball and held his knees close to his chin. Sniper glanced over.

"C'mere," he said idly, motioning his head.

Scout gave him a wary glare, and crouching, cautiously made his way to where the Sniper sat.

With one hand continuously holding the rifle, the Sniper awkwardly removed his jacket.

"Hey man, I think I'm fine, it's alri-"

"Just put it on."

The jacket was thrust into Scout's chest and he held it out in front of him to get a better look at it. It was worn and damaged, and the material soft with age.

"What you gonna do next, lie it on a puddle for me to step over?" Scout grinned, threading his arms through and burying his hands into the pockets. The jacket was sleeveless but it certainly made a difference. It smelt strongly of cigarettes and gunpowder.

A gentle kick into Scout's leg was all it took to shut him up.

He didn't return to the door, Scout just sat there at Snipers feet, not even able to see out of the tiny gap/window. It was warmer, pressed against the man's leg. He suddenly realised the machete was literally next to his ear. Tantalisingly close. All he needed was to make a grab for it and then that'd be it, over. A sniper's rifle was deadly but had no chance in such close proximities. His hands shook, and he tried to keep his cool. Was he really about to do this? After all, the man had been needlessly kind to him. But what was to happen when the match was over? Would he free him again? Perhaps killing the Sniper would be saving his own skin. The boy was almost vibrating with nerves. He could do it, it would take just seconds.

It seemed the decision couldn't wait any longer.

The celestial voice of the announcer came rattling through the speaker in the top corner of the room.

"MISSION ENDS IN 60 SECONDS."

His body seized up and almost without thinking he made a grab for the blade. He unsheathed it with incredible ease and leapt to his feet in time for the Sniper to respond. But he didn't. He just turned to look at Scout, hardly moving at all, his eyebrow arched sarcastically when he saw the knife shaking in Scout's hand.

The machete was heavy in his grip as he stood poised behind Sniper. It was deadly sharp, one strike was all it needed really.

"Don't be stupid," Sniper stated, monotonously.

"You sound just like the fuckin' Spy."

"MISSION ENDS IN 30 SECONDS."

Sniper looked away from the boy and lifted his sunglasses up onto the rim of his hat with a weary demeanour. The rifle slid from his grip and he left it resting on the window's ledge as he slowly and achingly got to his feet.

Scout was still shaking, half from the cold, half from the nerves. He took the blade into both hands, holding it out in front of him as he watched the Sniper rise and face him. The man took a step towards him, and Scout took a step back. It was almost as if Scout _wasn't_ holding a huge fucking blade, and this pissed him off.

"MISSION ENDS IN 10 SECONDS."

Another step forwards, and another back. Scout soon found his back was pressed against the far wall, almost stumbling on the crap lying about on the floor as he tried to keep his focus on the Sniper. The man got closer and closer, the darkness of the fading light was making it increasingly hard to see his face. A hand settled on his own, and gently pushed the knife away.

"Don't fuckin-" Scout started, but was interrupted.

Their mouths connected, and Scout felt a firm hand holding his shoulder against the wall. The kiss was solid and aggressive, and he found himself struggling to breath as he tried to keep up with the movement of the intruding tongue. He let out a weak groan as Sniper's other hand pushed his cap back and ground their bodies together.

"5, 4…"

He let his eyes close as he abandoned himself to the onslaught, his own hand resting on the man's abdomen.

"3, 2, 1…"

It was only then that he realised the knife had been already removed from his clasp, and he felt the stinging blade being pressed just under his jaw. The kiss stopped and Sniper inched back slightly, a sliver of light was able to enter the room, reflecting menacingly against in the corner of the Sniper's eyes and contouring his face with a diluted, blue tint. A malicious smirk broke across his face.

"VICTORY."


	2. Chapter 2

Hi everyone- wanted to continue this story (despite the fact I labelled it as 'complete' earlier). Soo, here ye are~ I'm gonna try and keep this updated frequently.

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><p>"You wanna be a lil wanker, I'll be one back…" Sniper growled, digging the pointed edge further into Scout's skin.<p>

The biting metal was unbearable and Scout found his vision blurring with the pained tears forming in his eyes. Speaking was out of the question, any jaw movement whatsoever would certainly allow the blade to pierce his flesh.

He wasn't a vicious man, as hard as he tried to be. It certainly appealed to him, as it would to anyone. It was a kind of macabre curiosity, like a child pouring salt over a slug. He wanted to know what they felt, these men that killed so shamelessly. No qualms or judgement . The Scout got to experience it, my god, the boy lived for it. But the Sniper didn't have that privilege. No, he killed from the sidelines. Saved of any brutality or satisfaction. But that could change right now. He could slit the boy's throat, watch him squirm in pain. Perhaps then he could be contented.

Maybe the starvation for blood was more maddening than drowning in it.

"Don't…" Scout groaned through his teeth. His hands were still resting on the Sniper's belt. He swallowed tensely, mouth dry in anticipation.

Sniper's heart was beating faster. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted from the boy; what he wanted to prove to himself. If he let him go, he was weak. If he killed him, like this, so _personally_, would he even be able to look himself in the mirror afterwards? The boy had trusted him. But then again, he had trusted the boy.

At that moment the trap door flew open.

The Red Demoman appeared in the opening, a blood-stained smashed bottle in his left hand. "Wehey," he bellowed intrusively, clambering to his feet behind the sniper, a malicious grin painted across his face, "thought you'd hide out up 'ere didya?"

Scout couldn't retaliate, the blade was still caressing his neck. His eyes flashed back to Sniper, staring at him with an imploring expression.

"I'm sure there's other Blu's runnin' rampant down there," Sniper suggested to the Scotsman, trying not to sound too possessive. He looked down at the smashed bottle, a small clump of flesh still attached to it. He cringed at the visual image of that crude object killing somebody.

"Nawh, Soldier's gone'n had 'em all," he muttered dismissively, leaning around the Sniper. He raising the bottle and poised it at the boy's stomach, pressing slowly. The scout let out a tortured groan. "Come on, lemme have this one, this little shit got away from me earlier but it's not about to happen again."

The shards pierced the fabric of his T-shirt and red began to contrast starkly against the blue of the material. Sniper scowled, the barbarity was too much for him.

"Let's take him back," he suggested snappily, suppressing the urge to push the larger man away from the scout.

"Wh- you serious?" The demoman frowned, attention turning to the Sniper. The bottle and machete remained pressed against the boy.

"Yeh, come on, been a while since we brought back any captives…"

Demoman seemed to ponder this for a moment, looking back at the Bostonian who's watery eyes had over-flooded, salty tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Why not," he smirked to himself, releasing the bottle and letting it fall to his side. "Medic needed a new test-subject anyway," he grinned cruelly to the boy, before making his way back down the ladder.

Sniper slowly released the blade's pressure, noticing a thin red line under the scout's jaw where it had been resting. Their eyes focused on one another, questioning.

Scout had, once again, no idea whether he had just been saved or not. He had landed himself in this situation twice now, except this time, with a much harsher outcome. So he was going to be the Red's captive. He had heard stories before, of the torture and torment. They occasionally held prisoners at his own base- normally Spies. A little ill-treatment was involved, an interrogation here and there, but they were never held more than a week. More often than not, they were released to return to their own barracks pretty much unscathed- parr from their dignity.

With the knife poised against him at all time, he descended the ladder after Demoman.

"Not so mouthy now, are ye'," the Scotsman provoked, giving the scout a hard shove.

"Yeah, you fuckin' keep dreaming," Scout snarled. The wound in his stomach was still bleeding, and he felt the muscles there spasming with every step. It was excruciating to say the least.

"Hold up, why's he wearing' your jacket?" Demoman laughed bemusedly, grabbing Scout by the shoulder to get a better look.

Sniper, who had just finished climbing down the ladder himself, threw a glance to Scout and sure enough, he was still wearing his jacket. Shit.

Scout looked at him with what could only be described as a frightened smirk. He ran through a few excuses of his own through his mind, but could come up with nothing that would be deemed even remotely believable.

"Left it in the room earlier. Came back up jus' now, found him hiding out in there with it on… little creepy if y'ask me," he snorted, hiding from Scout's accusing stare.

"Fuck that, man. That's'a low-blow," Scout shouted, enraged further to see the Sniper stifling a laugh.

The Demoman looked at Scout with a repelled grimace, "creepy, not half…" he snickered, shoving Scout onwards.

At least he bought it, Scout told himself, although he wasn't sure if the fib had saved him any embarrassment at all.

The battlefield was sparse of Blu bodies, most of which had made their way back to barracks or respawned already. Scout frowned. Surely they'd realise he was missing- but would they do anything about it? A scout was only a small loss, hardly a team member to sacrifice oneself to try and save. He tried not to think about it.

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><p>"Well what in gods'name are we supposed to do with him?" The Soldier yelled, throwing an accusing finger in Scout's direction.<p>

Sniper shrugged casually, "I dunno, Medic might wan'him?" He looked over to the Doctor who was disarming his medigun and placing it in his locker.

He turned. "Perhaps…" was all the german said, walking over to Scout and looking him up and down as he removed his rubber gloves- he didn't look overly concerned either way.

"Of all the team players to bring back, Sniper," Soldier continued scorning as he walked away from the situation and towards the staircase that led to the main barracks, "you bring this useless whelp."

"What's 'e gonna tell us if we interrogate 'im, the Major League scores?" The Red spy cocked a brow, straightening his tie.

"Hey, fuck if I know those, man… don't get any sports channels," Scout chimed in, receiving a highly unimpressed glare from every Red in the room.

Soldier stopped at the doorway on the upper level and looked dismissively down at Sniper, "put him in the cells for now, we'll talk about this later." And left.

Sniper glanced to Scout, who seemed quite calm about the whole situation. A small, cocky smile could be seen on his lips. In a way, Sniper was relieved, the last thing he wanted to deal with was a sobbing wreck, but he was also mildly vindictive of the boy's calm assurance. He took one of the younger man's shoulders in his hand and led him away from the base and towards the doors that exited onto the back courtyard.

"Sniper." An accented voice sounded behind them, Sniper stopped and turned.

The medic approached him gravely, eyes watching Scout inquisitively. He walked closer and closer, and Sniper almost took a step back. He stopped dead in front of the australian, casting a shadow over the slightly shorter man.

"I know what you are doing. You're making yourself very… obvious." He said with a slight sneer. "I suggest ze Ringer, but this is going to be on your own neck. Be quick about it, yes? Before it becomes obvious to ze rest of them as well." His frown deepened, and he threw one last concerned glance to the untroubled scout, before quietly retreating back indoors.

Rain began scattering on the dry ground and Sniper calmly removed his sunglasses, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his brow in vexation. "Fuck…" he groaned.

Scout, who remained as care-free about the situation as ever, was looking up at the sky. "Snipes, can we get movin'? Rain really messes with my headgear, yaknow?"

The man grabbed the boy by the collar of his T-shirt and yanked him to his own face so that their noses were almost touching. A low growl emitted from Sniper's throat as he tried to suppress the need to hurt the boy. "I've always considered myself a professional at my trade, and I like to think the rest of the team do as well. But now, thanks to you, my job's on the line. The least you can do for me is keep that god_damned _ungrateful mouth of yours on a leash." His fingers were digging into the fabric so hard he was chaffing them.

Scout upheld an expression of utter bewilderment. He was used to this kind of treatment, even amongst his own team, but he was struggling to find any clue as to how any of this was down to him. He struggled free of the sniper's grip and realigned his cap into place. He didn't say anything, for once, but scowled at the australian resentfully.

There was a fairly small, cluttered outbuilding tucked away behind Sniper's van and they entered into it's darkness. The room contained a sole staircase, that spiralled down into the gloom. Lighting fluorescent bulbs as they went, they arrived several metres below ground. It was very cold and damp, moths circled over-head, distressed by the sudden illumination. Scout shivered as he marched behind Sniper, keeping his opinions to himself. They arrived at the end of the corridor, a thin layer of water sheeted the stone ground. Several, heavy doors lined the walls, and Sniper opened one with a pin-code. He gently pushed the door open, revealing a simplistic box of a room. It contained nothing but a long bench at the back, and a drain in the far corner. A sliver of a window allowed a crack of dismal light to enter high above them. Scout felt himself recoil at the sight of it.

"In y'go," Sniper said tonelessly, nodding his head towards the open door.

Scout looked at him with as little emotion as he could muster, before walking into the cell. He looked around briefly, taking the sight of his new accommodation in. This was much worse than the cells at his own base. Much, much worse. He pulled at the leather adorning his shoulders and shifted off the jacket. He held the article of clothing up to Sniper. "Here you are."

"…You'll need it," was all the sniper said, shutting the large door between them with a heavy clang. He gave it a sharp tug to ensure it was locked, and heard the satisfied click, before turning to leave.

"Sniper, wait," Scout exclaimed, trying to peer out of the tiny window that was embedded in the door. The man's footsteps hesitated for a moment, before continuing, leaving Scout alone in the cold shadows.

The boy remained pressed against the door, straining to see through the unforgiving excuse for a window. The footsteps became quieter and quieter, until he could no longer hear them. The frightening situation he was in began to dawn on Scout, and he clapped a hand to his mic. It was non-receptive. A panicked moan escaped his lips, and he sat himself down on the bench. He was used to dying, he experienced it several times a day. But what he couldn't handle was the torment of loneliness. Silence engulfed him, parr from the resounding hum of the rain outside. Water trickled down from the slender gap above him, tumbling gently down the wall and pooling around his feet. What had he gotten himself into? _This is what comes of trusting someone_, he told himself dismally. Scout leant forwards onto his knees and placed his forehead into his palm, pressing his other cold hand against his bleeding stomach. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Scout wasn't the only one to get very little sleep that night. Sniper had always stood fast by his theory of 'having a plan to kill everyone you meet,' but in this case, that plan was non-existent. It bothered him more than it should have. As he sat there on the mattress of his upper-level hideaway, polishing the lens to his scope, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of dismay at his disreputable actions that day. Sure, the kid was captured and contained; but that wasn't the point. Something in him had changed that day, and it dawned on him that he was incriminating the boy on his behalf. And, as much as he had been trying to repress the memory, he had indeed kissed him. A knotting occurred in his stomach and he threw the gun down beside him wearily, before clapping his hands to his forehead._ Why didn't I shoot 'im when he came up? _He growled to himself in frustration.

Morning came, eventually, and a bitter mist sheeted the desolate land outside in it's ghostly haze. Everything seemed to reflect a shade of blue, and as Sniper sat there with his back against the wall did he notice that even his own crimson clothing was displaying a blue-ish tint. He had barely slept at all, and only in the last few hours had drifted in and out of consciousness. He guessed by the darkness in the room that it was still very early, but he rose nonetheless and stretched his limbs. He hadn't resolved many of his issues at question that night, but there was one thing he was certain of. He'd get the job done, efficiently as possible. He'd come this far, it would only be professional to see it to the end. He nodded to himself definitively, and placed his slouch hat squarely on his head.

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><p>"Mornin', Sniper," The Engineer gave a gentle smile as he discovered the Australian descending into the Common Room. It wasn't often that Sniper was around the base in the mornings, as usually he slept in his van, but he had very much disliked the idea of being anywhere near the Scout that night.<p>

"Y'alright, mate?" He responded, not waiting for an answer, as he walked directly past the texan and towards the canteen. The only other person who would be up this early was Soldier, and the sniper was on a mission to find him.

The common areas were almost empty. The demoman was snoring loudly on the sofa, surrounded by a significant amount of empty bottles and cigarette butts. Sniper marched passed him and arrived at the canteen area, to find the soldier sipping a cup of coffee next to the window. He noticed Sniper approaching, and immediately straightened himself to attention.

"Good to see you up at this hour, private," he all but shouted, raising his mug in praise.

"Yeah, well, wanted to chat to ya' actually," Sniper replied, reaching to his chest to remove a cigarette from his jacket pocket, before remembering the article of clothing was still in the possession of Scout, "I uh… was wondering what we were going to do with the captive?"

He was thankful for Soldier's lack of understanding when it came to more subtle social implications, otherwise it would be screamingly obvious how bothered Sniper clearly was about the boy's wellbeing.

"Ah yes. well, we're gonna kill him." Soldier gave an insouciant smile.

Sniper tried not to flinch. "You mean, on the battlefield or…?"

He swallowed a mouthful of strong coffee. "No, away from respawn, of course. Doctor's not interested in him, and we certainly have no use for him in the base." He said with a powerful voice. "Not entirely sure what you were thinking, bringing him back here after all... But, one less scout to worry about, 'eh? We'll finish him tomorrow." He clapped a large hand on Sniper's arm and marched past the taller man, retreating back to the common room.

Sniper could feel himself heat up, sweaty hands clung to his shirt as he turned. "Soldier!"

"Yes, lad?" He called back, mug to his lips.

"Could… could I be the one. To kill him, I mean," he said nervously- he knew he was pushing it now.

The soldier stared at him solidly, his brow furrowed slightly, and Sniper could feel himself burn with anxiety. He tried to remain nonchalant, leaning against the counter.

"If you'd like." Was all the soldier said, looking at Sniper with skeptical eyes. He left briskly.

The need for a cigarette had intensified, and Sniper closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his face. He had half expected this outcome, but couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sting of fear trail down his spine. He had a plan, but it was risky. Very risky. He kept asking himself if it was worth it. After all, scout's were disposable. They weren't a phenomenal asset to a team, and were easily replaced. Young and inexperienced as they were, it wasn't difficult to find others with the same adequacy. And yet, Sniper couldn't let the issue go. It wasn't like the boy had snuck into the base, or committed an offence directly against the Red team. It was _his_ fault the Scout was in this situation, and the boy's death would be entirely down to his own selfishness. He had to help him escape.

* * *

><p>He arrived outside the Spy's door, and hesitated to knock. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to accomplish what he was intending on doing, but he didn't have a lot of time left. Raising a hand, he knocked impatiently. A heavy clicking sound was heard, and the door opened slightly to reveal Spy's balaclava'd face.<p>

"Yes? What is it you want, Sniper?" He spoke fluidly, opening the door fully on realisation that it was the Australian outside his door and not the vexatious Red scout.

"Can I come in?"

The frenchman stepped aside and allowed Sniper entry. The man was fully dressed, apart from his suit jacket, but resumed straightening his tie in front of the mirror as he watched the sniper walk over to the desk in the reflection.

"Has Medic spoken to you?" Sniper piped up, fiddling leisurely with a pen that had been resting on the desk's surface.

The spy brushed his hands down his shirt front and proceeded to remove a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He casually lit one, and inhaled deeply. Sniper watched him carefully- his lack of response led to worry.

"Non. Should he have?" The spy breathed casually, allowing the smoke to billow from his lips.

"Well, no, I was just… just asking- can I?" He extended a hand expectantly at the packet of cigarettes in the spy's hand.

Eyebrows cocked, he paused for a moment, looking down at the Sniper's hand. Slowly, turning his gaze to the Australian's expression, he handed him a cigarette as well as the lighter in his pocket. "Sniper, not to seem.. _brusque_, but what is this about?" He removed the cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ash into the metallic bin by the door.

The sniper inserted one into his mouth, pursing it in his lips as he lit the end. He didn't dare make eye contact with the spy, he was terrified the truth would just blurt out. He took his time lighting the stick, taking a few lung-fulls of smoke. So the Medic hadn't said anything to the others; that didn't mean he was in the clear. If it had been obvious to the German, it'd have likely been just as obvious to the spy- what with his expertise lying in the ability to pick up such subtleties. His gaze travelled back to the desk, and he noticed something golden and shining beneath a bundle of scattered sheets of paper.

"I woke up early. Just been kinda' bored down there in the common room on my own." It was a blatant lie, but the Sniper's attention was too distracted to have come up with a better excuse. He moved lazily closer to the desk, leaning across it on one arm.

"I see." The spy paced over to where his suit jacket was hung neatly on a dresser door, and began unbuttoning it. Sniper took this as an opportunity, and let his hand slide across the paperwork. "I have to say, it ees not like you to be up before drill," Spy continued.

Sniper muttered something incoherent, his hand slipped beneath the sheets of A4 and touched something cold and metallic.

"Tell me, it would not have something to do with that Blu you and the Demoman brought back yesterday, would it?"

He hadn't been paying attention. His hand folded around the small object and he brought it swiftly to his trouser pocket. He turned his head away to the window, as composed as he could manage.

"Sniper?" The spy had turned, shifting his jacket over his shoulders.

"Huh? Yeah, I should probably leave ya to it…" he nodded with a courteous smile, and turned on his heel, heading towards the door.

The spy watched him turn, hands casually in his pockets. A gentle frown adorned his expression. "Before you leave, could I have my Dead Ringer back?"

The sniper froze in his steps, and slowly looked over his shoulder to his teammate. Had it really been that obvious? In all fairness, he hadn't expected to get very far. After all, he was stealing from a spy.

"'Onestly, _chéri_, I thought sneaking through o'zer peoples possessions was my profession?" He extended a patient hand to the sniper, who removed the golden clock from his pocket and placed it in the spy's palm.

Sniper laughed uncomfortably, "sorry, mate. Shoulda' known better…"

The spy hmm'd, returning the golden clock safely into a desk drawer. His icy glare returned to the Sniper, and he folded his arms sternly across his chest, leaning back against the desk chair. "What ees this about?"

Sniper couldn't hold the glare, and turned his focus to the map on the back wall. He shrugged his shoulders briefly, letting his hands slip into his pockets. "Seriously, mate, it's nothing." He was fully aware that the obstinate behaviour was a lost cause.

The Spy frowned, darker now, his jaw tensing as he gritted his teeth. "Don't fuck with me, Sniper, I don't much care for it…"

He paused for one last endeavour of tenacity; but sighed, bringing his hand to his face as he removed his sunglasses. It was hard to see out of them in this lighting anyway. He moved over to the bed and dropped himself onto the hard mattress. _So much for professionalism_, he couldn't help but think to himself. "I just…" the words wouldn't seem to come out. He wasn't sure just how he was going to go about admitting to this. He groaned, leaning onto his lap. "I…" His tounge was fighting against him.

The spy continued watching him, a slight frown permanently adorned his expression. "You're trying to help that boy escape, aren't you?" His tone was low, threatening. Like he was muttering a curse.

Sniper glanced up, opened his mouth a couple of times, before closing it again. "Yes." He finally managed to murmur.

"_Salaud_!" He snapped, barely a moment after the word had passed the Snipers lips. He pushed himself away from the chair, taking a long, aggressive drag from his cigarette. "You know ze rules, this ees a fucking war. You heard what 'appened to zat soldier and demo, you don't fraternise with ze odder team, do you have any idea how much shit you are putting yourself in just _thinking_ of doing thees?" He was pacing now, throwing his hands and gestures at the Sniper as he spoke.

He couldn't help but take note of how much stronger Spy's accent became when he was pissed. He returned the cigarette to his mouth, only to realise that most of it had burnt away in his hand while he had been sitting there. "What can I say…?" He looked up once more, eyes somewhat pleading. He genuinely didn't know.

The spy scowled, a hint of repulsion on his expression. He, of all people, was a devout abider to that particular regulation. He hardly fraternised with _anybody_, let alone Blu's. He just couldn't understand how anybody could be so completely uncontrolled of their emotions. "If the Administrator finds out-"

"She won't find out." He couldn't suppress the growl in his voice. "I have this figured out. The only people who know are you and the Doctor."

"The _Medic_ knows? _Putain de merde_…" he angrily stamped the cigarette butt out into the table ashtray.

The Sniper rose from the bed, doing the same for his own cigarette. "He won't say anything. I just need to borrow your Dead Ringer. Only for when I kill him… I'll carry the projection away, the kid'll follow, and I'll let 'im go. Nobody'll be the wiser." He shifted the sunglasses back onto his face, as if the tiny layer of glass would protect him from the Spy's tempestuous scowl.

Spy was still entirely unsatisfied with this risky and flawed plan, and what's worse, if anybody were to find out, the Dead Ringer would be immediately traced back to him. He was putting himself in danger. But the Sniper's quietly soft, confident demeanour near about made him believe it was achievable. "If anybody asks," he slotted another cigarette into his mouth. He already smoked like a chimney, but Spy knew today it'd be more like a forest-fire. "…You succeeded in stealing it from me." He made a humoured snort, like the very idea seemed impossible to the point of laughable.

The Sniper smiled gently. He and Spy rarely agreed on anything. Their individual ideologies was responsible for not only classifying them both into the Support class, but had them sparring almost continuously in their free time. Their turbulent relationship was not one to admire, but at the same time, it was affectionate. They admired one another almost as much as they were confused by one another. "Thanks, mate…"

"Yes, well…" Spy turned to the mirror once more, buttoning his jacket. He wasn't sure whether it was down to his mild affection for the Sniper, or the tiny sting in his heart when he pictured her face on the realisation of her son's death. Either way, he was involved now. "Don't fuck up."

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><p>Sorry guys, will try and keep this updated. I was hoping for a slightly longer chapter, but I guess it panned out this way~/


	4. Chapter 4

He flipped the switch again, and listened as the distinctive echo of white noise crackled through the head piece. Scout had been flicking the switch on and off all night, hoping- _longing_, for the sound of his teammates trying to reach him. But all he had received was the hissing din of a multitude of frequencies. He turned it off again, and was once more surrounded by the hum of rain and the undetectable dripping of raindrops against the stone surfaces. It was still pitch black outside, from what he could see through his thin cell window. Scout stood up from the floor and stretched his aching limbs, his damp clothing clinging to his skin in a most uncomfortable way. Swinging his foot up onto the bench, he hoisted himself onto the wooden platform and pressed his body against the sodden wall to see out of the slender opening above him. He couldn't see much, several windows of the building before him were glowing against the darkness; but the starry sky was marred with rainclouds and not even moonlight could seep through the thick, sheeting rain. His small window was in fact on ground-level outside of his underground prison, and if he reached his arm out through the bars he could touch the pools of murky water and the boggy dirt just outside. The rain drizzled against his face as he leaned against the bars, cold and stinging on his skin; but he didn't care anymore. He was physically and mentally exhausted, he just wanted this charade to end. He had told himself over and over as he had sat there in the darkness that he would likely be released tomorrow. There wouldn't be any point in keeping him in this cell, and hopefully the Sniper would drive him back to the Blu base- or at least halfway there or something, he couldn't walk the entire journey without getting himself lost in that dense forest just outside the base. These hopes and theories had rattled through his mind all night, but deep down; a place Scout rarely ventured in himself, he knew he wouldn't be heading home any time soon- if at all.

Miserably, he flipped the switch of his radio once more- but this time, he could make out a faint rhythm behind the static noise. For a fleeting moment, he thought it might perhaps be his team. But the excitement subsided when he realised it was music. Distant music. It was likely that one of the Red members had their radio playing, and he was receiving some of the signals. He listened closely. It was classical music. _Probably that fancy, french son-ova-bitch's_. Still, the lulling orchestra was soothing and calmed his worry. He pressed himself closer to the bars and noticed that the music became clearer the nearer he got to the window. Adjusting his footing, he was stretched out against the stone wall, arms pressing into the iron rods. The music became more and more distinct, and just as the last of the crackling white noise diminished, Scout felt the cold iron he was leaning against shift. It had moved, just an inch, but had scared the life out of the Bostonian. Nearly falling from his perch on top of the bench, he looked down at what his weight had done. One of the old iron bars in the window had slid, and caused a crack to trail down about half way along the stone wall.

Moments later, Scout was hammering and shoving the loose bar a centimetre at a time until the metal pole was free and landed in the mud outside of the cell with a damp thunk. He had created a gap, but it certainly wasn't large enough to fit himself through, so he turned his attention to the next bar. They all seemed to be of the same condition, and so he was determined to bust the rest of them loose as well. For about a half hour, he battered, shook, twisted and pounded the bars until all 5 were strewn in the sodden dirt just outside the opening. With Bach's Cello Suite hissing in and out of range in his headphones, he hoisted his weak and tired body up onto the wall and, with hands desperately grappling at the slippery mud on the outside, lifted himself through the window. It was a tight squeeze, but with some hard kicking, thrashing and a concoction of profanities, he was free. He rose to his feet, mud was smeared across his chest and legs and an array of cuts and bruises blemished his hands and arms. But he didn't care, he was out of that shit-hole, and now just had to figure out a way of getting out of the Red base entirely. Looking down at himself, he cringed at the thick coat of dark mud that was caked down his front. _At least the blue won't be so obvious_- he hoped. Wrapping the Sniper's jacket tightly across his cold body, Scout began in what he guessed was the right direction.

The sun was beginning to emerge on the horizon, or at least, a pinkish hue. It was early morning, and the fog was already beginning to thicken in ghostly sheets on the ground. The Red Base was a grey haze, with the occasional yellow light fighting against the mist. His shoes were soaked-through, and his throat sore from breathing in the icy air all night, and whats worse, Scout was sure he would never escape from the maze that was Red Base. It was nothing like his own, where the buildings were correctly signed and the structures were simplistic. This was a disorganised, rustic labyrinth. Scout turned another corner and arrived at yet another steel fence. This was fast becoming hopeless. "Motherfucker…" he groaned to himself, hearing the panic in his voice. The sun had risen now, peering through the alpine peaks just off the distance. The warmth of the sun diffused a yellow across the previously bluish fog and Scout knew that the Red teammates would be waking up about now. He began frantically running in random directions, jumping oil drums and clambering across piles of debris. He didn't dare venture into any open doorways in the fear of running straight into one of them, but he was running out of places he hadn't already tried.

Skidding slightly on the mud, Scout followed a mill structure around a bend and swerved past a stack of tires. Suddenly, he was in an area he didn't recognise, and his optimism began to reignite. The buildings diminished in the distance and Scout could just about see the trunks of the forest where the walls opened up onto the outland. Brimming with this newfound elation, he followed the dirt trail underneath a low overhang and leapt over a curious stack of newspapers. He had just swerved a beam of wood leaning against the building's side when he came crashing into something hard and warm. Scout skidded painfully to the ground, landing on his shoulder. Before he could make sense of what had just happened, he was all too aware of a burning heat on his arms and chest.

"Goddamnit Scout, the fuck're you doing?" The Texan bellowed, frozen in his steps and glaring down at the muddy boy who was now covered in the hot coffee he had barely managed to take a sip of.

"Fuckfuckfuck!" Scout desperately stretched the clothing away from his skin so as the burning coffee didn't make contact.

When at last his attention turned to the man looming over him, it was too late. The engineer saw the stark blue beneath the coffee stains and mud and it dawned on him that it wasn't his own teammate. His eyes widened and he backed away a couple of feet. The Red Engineer had hardly expected to crash straight into a Blu the moment he took a step out of the building that early morning, and he certainly didn't have a weapon handy to protect himself for just the occasion. For what seemed like an eternity, they just stared at one another, dumbfounded- before Scout scrambled to his feet and made another run for it.

"Wait- HEY!" The Engineer shouted after him, making a grab for the boy but not quite fast enough.

The Soldier appeared in the doorway behind him, curious of the commotion, and had arrived in time to see the blue figure disappear around a bend. Moments later, they were chasing him, along with half the rest of the team.

"He's headed for the South Gate!" The Soldier yelled after the other teammates, trailing slightly behind.

The Demoman quickly overtook, unsheathing his Persian Persuader that he had fortunately equipped that morning for practice, "how in the BLOODY 'ell'd he get owt?"

It was no use, the Blu Scout was quickly getting away and none of the Red's on the scene were physically able to catch up even if it hadn't been 8 in the morning and they weren't still half asleep. Suddenly, the Engineer skidded to a halt. The rest slowed to a stop, also, and watched as the muddy Blue blur disappeared from sight. Then there was a chuckle; a low, menacing laugh that escaped from behind the Engineer's grin. The rest of them glanced back to see just what on earth there was to be amused about.

"Dun' worry… he won't get far."

Scout was home free, the opening in the fence was directly ahead of him and he couldn't suppress a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. He turned to observe the Red's feeble attempt to keep up with him, and was amazed that they weren't even in his vision. For a fleeting moment, he commended just how skilled he was at this running malarky, but then, it seemed eerily too good to be true. Why weren't they chasing him anymore? His question was swiftly answered by a shrill beeping sound- one that was all too familiar. Strewn around the archway that separated the Red Base from the freedom beyond, were at least 5 level three sentry guns. What rather quickly followed this unfavourable development was a frenzied scramble for cover, consisting of Scout double-jumping across just about every surface he could manage. Missiles blasted left and right, bullets scattering and rebounding in all directions. It would have been an amusing sight for anyone parr Scout, as suddenly he felt an uncomfortable- to say the least- explosion erupting on his left leg. Pain seared up his entire body, and he sensed himself fall from a ledge he wasn't even aware he had been positioned on top of, and landed hard on the ground. The sentries ceased their brutal assault and all was quiet once more, except for the wailing and bawling from the Bostonian. He clutched his leg desperately, feeling the blood spill over his fingers. He was used to the pain of battle, but this was different. There was no respawn or medic here to save him, and the fear washed through his body, mixing with the agony in a sickly combination.

Feet appeared before him. Several men were standing over him and he could make out voices, but his attention was fixated on his leg. Scout lifted his now entirely red hand to see the damage, and sure enough, there was a jagged gash about half the size of his palm right there on his shin. He could just about make out the bone beneath. Scout groaned, pressing his hand firmly back over the wound, trying to cease the blood flow.

"This is ridiculous, somebody just kill him," he could hear the Engineer say, directly above him.

The Soldier stepped forward and knelt next to Scout, his voice was hard and stern, "alright, put 'im outta his misery. Where's Sniper?" He hollered, looking over his shoulder, pressing bullets into the shotgun he had equipped.

Sure enough, the Red Sniper appeared behind the group alongside the Spy, running after the chaos. When he arrived, his attention focused on the bloodied mess on the floor. Behind the yellow-tinted sunglasses, his eyes widened. His body became stiff and he was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and a mild anger that was quickly bubbling inside him. He suppressed it. "How did.. what happened here?" He glanced to the Soldier, who thrust the shotgun into his hands.

"He escaped, but never mind that- get it over with."

The Scout finally looked up. His body was a muddy, blood-soaked wreck. His headpiece and cap had fallen off in the commotion, and it made him feel strangely vulnerable. Not that he wasn't already helpless lying there in the pool of mud and blood.

"Who let 'im out?" The Spy piped up, throwing a dangerous glance to the Texan who was standing there in a faded pair of jeans and his Red team shirt, looking highly suspicious

The Engineer's expression turned to one of astonishment as he caught the Frenchman's drift. "Me? I jus' stepped outta the door and the kid comes flying at me from nowhere!"

The Soldier snarled, "it doesn't matter HOW he escaped, let's just get the job done. Right now!" He gave the Sniper an impatient clap on the shoulder, egging him forwards with the gun.

The Australian upheld a composed exterior, despite the panic and distress he was feeling within. How _had_ he broken free? But the Soldier was right, that didn't matter. Things had progressed a lot quicker than he had anticipated and although he hadn't thought-out his plan quite as thoroughly as he had hoped, it was now or never. He could feel the eyes behind him as he stood there with the boy at his feet, still quietly moaning under the intense pain. Sniper knelt gingerly, taking the boy's shoulder in his hand and shifting him onto his knees. Scout's eyes bore into him lividly, and he could feel the burning hostility emitting from the Bostonian. There was no pleading in his gaze, like before. Nor despair or fear. Just accusation. And it gouged into the Sniper ruthlessly, shredding at his honest and caring disposition and made his stomach twist and turn. He really did feel guilt. Carefully, and as subtly as he could manage with his back to the rest of the team, he slipped the golden clock from his sleeve and squeezed it into the Scout's hand. The boy gripped it, looking down at the shimmering object. It took a few confused and dubious seconds before he recognised where he had seen the item before. He looked up at the Sniper, eyes suddenly full of questions. But the Sniper was in no position to explain his intentions to the boy, he had to just trust that the Scout would catch on in time for the bullet to reach his skull.

"Get on with it. It's freezing out here." The Demoman exclaimed, bare arms folded across his chest.

The Sniper rose to his feet slowly, trying to buy as much time as possible to give Scout the opportunity to realise what he expected of the boy. Cocking the shotgun, he lowered it in one arm so that the barrel's opening rested just inches from the Scout's face. If the worst happened, and the boy didn't use the Dead Ringer correctly, he could at least hope for a clean and efficient shot. Make the process quick. The dead ringer was tucked beneath the boy's fist, pressed against the mud. The resentment was no longer as fierce in his eyes, and Sniper only hoped it was because the boy understood. his finger caressed the trigger and pulled gently. He knew the boy couldn't see his eyes through the aviator's, and was grateful, because he knew how full they were of anxiety. Despite having only associating himself with the boy yesterday, he had been aware of the Blu Scout for years. It was a distant curiosity at the most, as he rarely had the opportunity to encounter the boy during battle. He was too fast to make a successful shot, and while the Sniper resided to the sidelines, the Scout's role was to be in the midst of the commotion at all times. He saw the Bostonian 'die' at his hands so infrequently that it seemed almost foreign to be holding a gun to his face. Like he was killing him for the first time. Although, in the more literal sense, that was exactly what he was doing. In all his years as an assassin, he had never once killed a man. Thoroughly, that is. And now, finally, he was going to jump the hurdle- and with the boy he kissed no less. Repressing the sickly feeling in the pit of his stomach with all his might, he squeezed the trigger.

The explosion erupted from the shotgun's barrel in a screaming blaze, and the Sniper watched as the Scout's body was blasted off his knees and collapsed with a lifeless thump on his back. Blood and bone scattered, and he could no longer recognise the boy beneath the morbidity of it all. The team was silent as they watched the blood slide and blend with the muddy rain water. For a moment, the Sniper forgot entirely about the Dead Ringer. The death had looked… too genuine. Like there was no way he could've survived, even with the golden clock at hand. He heard a squelching sound behind him, and turned to see the Demo and Engineer walking back to the barracks, followed shortly by the Soldier. They were silent. It occurred to the Sniper that few of them, in fact, saw death. Not _real_ death. The team trudged back to the base, leaving Sniper standing alone with the Spy.

The frenchman removed a cigarette, looking down at the corpse with an indifferent expression. He lit it slowly. "Take the body to the forest and dump it out of sight. It will disappear the moment he unveils…" They both looked down at the lifeless body. Although neither of them spoke up, they were both thinking the same thing. There was a good possibility he would never unveil. "And I would like the Dead Ringer back, yes?" The Spy threw the Sniper a concerned glare, but the Australian wasn't looking, before turning and heading back to the barracks himself.

Sniper didn't turn to see him go, he was staring down at what was left of the Scout. He suddenly realised how hard he was gripping the shotgun, and his hand ached as he dropped the weapon to the ground. Gathering his courage, Sniper knelt by the remains, scooping his hands under the Scout's dead arms and trudged through the open gate, dragging the body behind him, leaving a trail of blood as he went. He didn't look down at the mass of bones and flesh, but he was all too aware of how authentic it felt in his hands. There was even a slight warmth radiating from the figure. When he was clear of the Red Base and at the forests edge, he couldn't hold back any longer. He needed to know. He gently dropped the carcass to the grass and wiped the blood off onto his trousers. Sniper then delicately removed his sunglasses, rubbing his nose with his wrist, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Swallowing, he released his cracking voice. "Sc… Scout?"

Silence. It seemed to go on forever, and the Sniper suddenly felt engulfed by the isolation and loneliness as he stood there on the margin of the alpine woodland with the boy's remains.

"Holy shit Dude, you have no idea how freaky this is for me right now," came the intangible Scout's voice, his lighthearted tone crisp in the murky air.

Sniper couldn't control a relieved laugh escaping his throat, his body slumped as it released an incredible amount of tension he had no idea he had been holding. "Fuuck…" he breathed, leaning onto his knees, a grateful smile playing at his lips.

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><p>Okay guys, here's a pretty big chapter for ya's. It was actually originally longer, but then I was like :I woah this is double my word length of my prev chap's D: CUT DAT SHIT DOWNN

Also, I know it's 4 chapters in, but I'd really like to know what you think of the story so far and if you'd like me to continue? I have to battle myself every time to decide whether to keep this story alive or not, would be great to hear what you think I should do.

Oh, and sorry about the MORBID descriptions. cant help myself sometimes :B

That be all~/


	5. Chapter 5

The joyous relief was quickly hampered when the obscured boy let out a suffering groan, and there was an apparent indentation in this grass where Scout was kneeling.

"Don't release the timer yet!" Sniper insisted, scared that if the boy were to let go of the clock in the midst of his anguish, he would reappear, making it near impossible to return to Base. "Just stay invisible f'er now… come on, lets get back in."

"No fucking way, man!" Came the disembodied voice, Sniper cringing at the startling volume and desperately tried to shush the unknown source of it. "Listen, I don't know what kind of fucked up game you're playing 'ere, but I've made it this far and there is no goddamn' way I am going back in there. I'm _walking _home." The footsteps began trudging away from the Australian. Or rather, limping away. Thankfully, still invisible.

Sniper stood there for a moment, astonished that the boy was so entirely self-absorbed and impudent to not recognise how much work and self-sacrifice he had put into aiding the kid's escape; and he was just going to walk away from it? The frustration bubbled inside him, but Sniper controlled it- just. He knew how Scouts could be. "You walk back with that gimpy leg and you'll be lucky to make it through the night…" The Sniper called after the footsteps. "I'll drive you back. In the morning, on the way to the Gorge. You can meet with your team on the battlefield…" his voice revealed just a hint of his irritation.

The limping steps slowed and then stopped. There was a rolling silence that seemed to carry forever. Sniper might as well have been standing there entirely on his own.

"Why are you doing this?" The Scout's voice was different. Not quite as exuberant and overbearing as usual; exchanged for a more composed quality.

Slightly taken-back by this apparently different person, Sniper hesitated. He looked away from the veiled figure, conscious that the boy was staring at him square in the face. For a moment, he thought he was going to give the Scout an answer- but quickly pulled himself together. "Does it matter? Just be bloody grateful…" he tipped his hat slightly, turned on his heel, and began towards the Base once more. He could only hope the boy would follow, after all, he still had Spy's Dead Ringer.

For a short while, Sniper was confident the Scout had continued in his endeavour to walk back by himself, but then the offensively loud voice erupted in his ears. "You gonna hold up or what? I'm a freakin' cripple here!" Whatever levelheaded tone Scout had withheld before had clearly been fleeting.

The Sniper flinched, his entire body tensing. "Christ- shut up y'little wanker, do you wanna get caught?" He hissed viciously, trying not to draw too much attention to himself.

The sun had risen fully now, and the Base was alive with the sounds of practice gunfire, shouting and laughing. Thankfully though, there were no teammates to be seen. The ground was still muddy from the rainfall that night, and steady-footing was required to manoeuvre across the barren maze of wooden outbuildings. Sniper briskly headed in the direction of his camper van, his pace as fast as he could muster without seeming too obvious. Scout, however, continued to make little grunts and complaints as he tried to keep up. It would have been understandable if this had not been a life-or-death situation. Sniper tried to ignore the sound, but as they reached the innermost region of the Red Base, it was increasingly putting them at risk. Sniper turned abruptly with the intention of giving the boy a curt reminder that he was a noisy little fuckwit, but instead, turned to find himself face-to-face with a very un-invisible Scout.

"What?" Scout responded with a cocked eyebrow to the Australian's alarmed expression, before being grabbed by the shoulders and pushed against the wall a little harder than he would have appreciated. "The fuck's your problem?"

"You turned off the Dead Ringer?" The Sniper spat, gripping the boy's upper-arms hard.

Scout's expression turned to one of panic, and he looked down at himself as if this was the first he'd seen of his own body. "Wait, no! No, I didn't touch it! I think it ran out or summin'!"

He thrust the golden pocket-watch in front of him, and they both looked down at the blank screen. Indeed, the timer had finally run out and Scout had returned to full-visibility. The Sniper cursed violently, throwing his head over his shoulder to see who was around. Thankfully, nobody, but who knew how long for.

"Come on," he grabbed the Scout by the arm, and dragged the boy- wound or no wound- as fast as he could towards the van.

The Bostonian stumbled and staggered after him, but was maturely making the decision to keep his mouth silent until they were clear of danger. Turning one last corner, the van was finally in plain sight. There was a few seconds where they both held their breaths, but at last, the Sniper's hand arrived at the handle of the door to his camper and he threw it open so fast he nearly knocked them both off the steps. Sanctuary. He hurried the injured boy into the dark, cramped vehicle and slammed the door immediately behind him.

They stood there in the gloom, breathing hard and watching the door nervously. Awaiting the Soldier to come bursting through the flimsy frame; shouting, swearing and shooting Scout square in the face and Sniper as well, while he was at it. But he never came. Neither did any other member of the team. It would appear they had been unseen.

"Snipes. Feel like lettin' go of my arm?"

Sniper distractedly turned to face Scout, and then looked down at the death-grip he had on the boy's forearm. He released him, and turned his full attention back to the door, daring it to open.

"Fuck. Fuuuuck… look at my leg!"

It seemed he wasn't going to be given any more time to confirm their safety, and Sniper turned and looked down at the boy's bleeding leg. It was in a very bad way, and without a medic at hand, Sniper knew that he would have to resort to the more traditional method of first aid and hope for the best. Scout stumbled backwards, falling against the mini-kitchen counter with a clang as cutlery tumbled to the floor. The effect of the damage had finally caught up with him now that the chaos was over. The boy groaned, grabbing at the fabric of his trousers and pulling it away from the wound, his body shaking from the anguish.

Silently, the Sniper shuffled across the tiny room, and began clearing boxes of ammo and weaponry away from the compact sofa. He glanced back to Scout, "sit down."

Twisting his body, Scout pushing himself carefully away from the counter surface and hobbled pathetically past Sniper and over to the seat. He was accustomed to pain and experienced it often, but not for quite such a long period of time. By now he had either felt the relief of respawn or Medic's healing beam. Pain was also a lot more acute when your mind wasn't intoxicated on the task of pounding skulls. "Fuckin' hurts… hurts wicked bad, seriously…" he groaned through gritted teeth, collapsing on the settee and lifting his knee to his chest so he could inspect the damage out of macabre curiosity. The gash was still bleeding steadily, and his entire leg from the shin downwards was stained red.

The Sniper retrieved a tin case from above the fridge, and placed it down on the kitchen counter. The box was dusty and aged- he had hardly needed it with the Doctor around. Fortunately, though, he was adept when it came to basic medical ministrations. "Lie down on your back and try and lift your leg up onto the armrest. Here," he threw a cloth that had been resting next to the sink at the boy, "hold that against the wound to stop the bleeding…"

Scout looked at him, his brow furrowed and eyes wide, but he took the Sniper's advice and awkwardly manoeuvred himself onto his back- raising his leg as high as he could manage and resting it on the arm of the sofa. The pain was severe when he pressed the coarse fabric against the gash, and he let out a distressed moan through gritted teeth as he applied pressure.

Sniper returned to the Scout's side, the first aid kit in hand. He knelt and raised his hands to the Scout's leg.

"Don't fuckin' touch it!" The boy flinched defensively.

"Look, just pull down your sock and lift your trouser leg up," the Sniper breathed with exasperation. This was going to be much like treating a wounded wild animal.

Scout did as he was told, complaining throughout. When the injury was completely revealed, the Sniper unscrewed a small bottle of liquid and lifted the flask towards the Scout's shin.

"Alright, Mongrel, this is gonna hurt like a bitch. But it's gotta be done."

Scout tensed, fingernails digging into the cushions beneath him, but he didn't withdraw his leg. After all that had happened, there was still an enduring level of trust he had for the Australian. He screwed up his face as he watched the fluid pour from the opening of the bottle and trail across the wound. It took a few moments for the sting to kick in, but when it did, it was like someone had thrust a red-hot poker into the open flesh. Scout twisted his body so his face was buried into the back of the settee, his leg still in place, and bit down hard onto the cushion. His shouts were stifled by the fabric. The Sniper wrapped bandages as quickly as possible around the wound, layering them thick to try and cease the blood flow. He pinned it in place and rolled back on his heels, resting with his arms supporting behind him.

"There y'are. You'll be fine 'til morning," Sniper said, squashing the items back into the small metal case with one hand.

Scout responded with further screaming into the sofa, his knuckles white from gripping the cushion so hard. Sniper watched the boy's back heaving with each cry, his hair tousled and scruffy from days of exertion. He noticed that his jacket was still donned by the Bostonian, and he had to wonder why the Scout had kept it all this time. He was honestly glad to see that it hadn't been angrily discarded the moment the Demoman had first caught him wearing it. The sobs began to diminish slowly, and the boy's breathing settled as the effects of the antiseptic wore off. It wasn't long before Scout was silent, face still pressed into the back of the sofa. Gunshots rattled in the near distance, a sound that they had both grown accustomed to over the years. The small caravan was quickly heating up in the midday sun, and the Sniper rolled up his sleeves and removed his hat as he sat there on the floor. It had been about 10 minutes, and the Australian was beginning to worry that the Scout had managed to fall unconscious.

"Oi, you dead?" He piped up.

There was no reply. But as he listened, there wasn't the telltale heavy breathing of sleep, and Sniper knew the boy was awake. He was just being stubborn. There was something that had been bothering him all morning, and Sniper decided now was as good a time as ever to attempt asking. "How'd you get out of the cell?"

Scout remained silent. However, after a short while, his mumbling voice could be heard beneath the fabric of the settee. "Busted m'way out. No thanks to you, fuckass…"

Sniper sat there quietly, contemplating how it was even possible to 'bust out'. As far as he was aware, that door had been locked tight. He decided not to push the boy though, as clearly he wasn't in a talkative mood. Still, he couldn't help but feel he needed to give an explanation. "You know I had to put you in there. If anyone were to find out I was helping you, both our necks would be on the line…"

In a flurry, the boy flipped over on the couch, so he was suddenly supporting himself on his elbows and gave the Sniper a murderous stare. His voice was sharp and spiteful. "Oh, I'm so fuckin' sorry, shitkicker. You wanna help me out, then fuckin' help me out- not just when you fucking feel like it and it makes you look like a big fuckin' man. One second you're shooting me in the face, the next you're kissing it. So yeah, real freakin' helpful. Next time, though, try doing your job and killing me when you're supposed to- a'ight?"

The sudden abusive slur was hard to make out, but Sniper definitely picked up on the boy's malicious tone. He let out an exhausted sigh, cutting off eye-contact with the Scout and looking at his bandaged leg instead. As much as he didn't want to admit it, the kid was right. He was responsible for everything that had happened, as well as the Scout's close scrape with death. One confused decision had evolved into a whole mess of trouble, and it all could have been avoided if he had just shot the boy back on the battlefield.

"But I shouldn't've taken your knife…" came Scout's voice again, milder this time. Sniper looked up to find that the boy had broken the eye contact this time, his attention fixated on the window. "Yesterday… I shouldn't have done it." Scout's face adorned a slight frown, like he was concentrating on getting the wording right. Sniper was almost disturbed by by the hint of remorse in the Scout's voice. It was somewhat eerie. For the second time that day, the Sniper had been shocked by the maturity in the Bostonian's speech.

There was an awkward moment of silence, both of them not knowing quite where to look or what to say. When suddenly, Scout did what he did best, and broke it.

"Anyway. You'd better fuckin' let me go in the morning," he flipped back over so he was facing the sofa once more.

Sniper relaxed now that the Scout he recognised seemed to have returned. He took a moment, before hoisting his tired body to his feet. "I'd better get back to the team," he said, "obviously you gotta stay in 'ere. I'll be back this evening, but you can eat whatever's in the kitchen. 'Imagine you're starved, eh? And try and keep your leg raised, 'slows the blood flow and whatnot." He placed a hand gently on the Scout's shoulder, giving it a friendly shake, before gathering his hat and glasses and headed for the door. The boy didn't turn. "Like I said, y'gotta stay in here," he asserted.

"Alright. Jeez…" Scout snapped, looking over his shoulder. He watched as the older man gave him a lift of the hand in parting, before exiting the van.

The rest of the day went by painfully slowly. Scout wasn't used to being so still for so long, especially in the claustrophobic conditions of the camper van. He had been in the Blu Sniper's van only a handful of times, but had never liked to be in there more than a few minutes at once. It made him feel like the oxygen would run out at any second. On a couple of occasions he toyed with the idea of driving the vehicle straight out of the base, but knew the idea was risky to the point of suicidal. Scout ate what he could find, which wasn't much. He had discovered a few slices of bread and some wrapped-up meat in the fridge. He wasn't entirely sure what kind of meat it was, though, which deterred him surprisingly little. By the time it reached six o'clock, he had had just about enough of sitting around in the cramped conditions. Scout would've killed for a couple minutes outside to stretch his legs properly. It was like the cell he had spent last night in all over again. Although, admittedly, this prison was considerably warmer.

His leg wasn't hurting quite so much anymore, either that, or he had grown accustom to the dull pain. He would tug at the bandages, lifting them slightly to get a look at the wound, but couldn't pull the tight fabric quite far enough. The hours continued to drain by, ever so slowly, and there was still no sign of the Sniper.

When at last footsteps could be heard outside, Scout's impatience was full to burst. He clambered down from the table he had been sitting on, flicking through a firearms magazine, and approached the window of the camper van. Without thinking, he pressed himself against the glass, only to find that in fact the Sniper wasn't at the vehicle's entrance. It was the Heavy. He practically threw himself away from the wall, falling back against a stack of shelves and knocking half its contents to the floor with a loud crash. In a stumbling panic, Scout frantically rushed into the first suitable hiding-place he could find- under the bed. Suddenly so very grateful for his smaller frame which, up until that moment, he had always disliked about himself, he slid under the wooden structure. There was a powerful knock at the door which reverberated all the way to the floor that Scout was lying on.

"Sniper. Are you inside?" His thunderous voice was undeniable.

Scout waited, terrified. Watching the door threateningly, he tried to press himself as far under the small space as possible.

After a short wait, the Russian continued. "Doctor says you have solvent for Sasha?" The door opened, and the large man stepped inside.

Scout could only see as high as the Heavy's knees, but the man halted in front of the mess he had created on the floor. He leant down, picking up what appeared to be a small tin, before casually throwing it back on the floor.

"You in here? I heard noise…"

He could hear a creak as the Heavy pushed open the bathroom's door, then further footsteps as the large boots reappeared in his vision. The sound of his heartbeat was very apparent at this stage. The whole camper van swayed and groaned as the Heavy manoeuvred from one side of the vehicle to the other. There was a sudden shuffling noise above him as he heard the Heavy hunting through the shelves and cabinets. A pencil fell to the floor with a tiny clatter and rolled against Scout's hand, and the boy's breath hitched. Chewing his lip, he begged that the Heavy wouldn't attempt to fish it out from under the bed. Thankfully, though, it would appear the Russian was too intent on the task of finding the cleaning solvent. The large man let out a frustrated groan, closing the cabinet door a little noisier than he likely would have intended. His feet made their way slowly over to the other side of the living-space, and Scout could make out the Heavy to about as high as the man's shoulders. The Russian leant forwards across the couch, apparently curious of something. Then Scout spotted it himself. His bloodstains were still scattered across the cushions, and the Heavy reached forward and pressed his finger against one of the red patches. He withdrew his hand and studied the bloody smear on his finger. Scout could only watch in panic as the Heavy stood up once more and did a 360 of the room. This was bad.

* * *

><p>Well haaaaaii~ thanks guys for the great response I had to the last chapter. Really does mean alot :). This chapter had to also be cut down as it was so very very long (I only wish I put in half as much effort into my writing when I was in highschool as I do with this silly little fic), so apologies for the cliffhanger at the end. Howevah', that does mean that the next chapter is pretty much a 3rd finished already, so it should be submitted fairly soon.

As always, reviews are very much appreciated~/


	6. Chapter 6

Carefully shuffling backwards further, his shoulder squashed against the wall. He could no longer see the entire Heavy and was once again at eye-level with the large man's ankles. The Heavy appeared to be searching for something else now, and he busily moved around the room, looking behind doors and curtains. Scout almost knew he was onto him. The huge feet landed on a small shot-glass and it crunched beneath his weight, but Heavy was undeterred, and continued stepping with difficulty around the room. At last, he stopped- directly in front of Scout. The tips of his boots were just inches from the boy and Scout held his breath. The bed groaned and creaked as the large man put his weight on it, and the mattress sank to the point where it was beginning to crush Scout against the floor. He still didn't breathe. The weight was released as the Heavy removed his hand from the bed and the mattress re-shaped. The large man made a dissatisfied grunt, but continued to stand there, boots almost touching the Bostonian's hand.

As if things couldn't get worse, the door of the van opened again. Another pair of shoes entered the vehicle, but Scout almost immediately recognised them as Sniper's. He could have audibly thanked the Australian's timing.

"What's goin' on?" The Sniper's voice was dripping with apprehension.

The Heavy turned, the van groaning as he shifted his weight. "Sniper. You are hurt?"

There was a momentary pause, and the Sniper's feet shifted awkwardly. "Hurt? What- what're you on about?"

Heavy appeared to gesture towards the couch, because they both suddenly turned to face it.

"Oh, that? Yeah, um- sliced my hand when cleaning my shiv a while back. Kinda' stupid really…"

You could've sliced the tension in the air with a shiv. Heavy stepped forward, lifted his bloodied hand to Sniper's face, the one he had touched the settee with. "Blood is wet, though." His voice was considerably lower; almost to the point of menacing.

"A while ago today. Was… what I meant. Today." The Sniper lifted his own gloved hand. "Yeah, still hurts pretty bad. Got me some bandages 'round it, though. Should be jus' fine." Scout had to condone the confidence in the Australian's voice. He only hoped it was enough to buy the Heavy's trust.

The Russian rubbed his fingers together, smearing the blood across his palm, looking down at it with a furrowed brow. His eyes then fixated on the Sniper's hand, obscured as it was by the fingerless glove. Finally, he straightened his back, giving the Sniper a very solid stare. "Should see Doctor about that. Can't use little gun tomorrow with hand that is hurting…" Sniper nodded agreeably, only too glad to be clear of danger and grateful that the Heavy hadn't asked to see the so-called damage. The Russian turned, looking down at the mess on the floor with an impassive disposition. "Was looking for solvent."

"Gun solvent?" The Sniper responded, his voice considerably more chipper. His shoes clacked across the hard floor as he approached a cabinet beneath the sink. Sniper knelt, and was low enough to the ground to spot the Scout in the peripheral of his vision. He hesitated, suppressing the need to turn his head, before quickly opening the cabinet door. He withdrew a small tin bottle from the clutter within, and rose back to his feet. "Here. Try not ta' use all of it though…"

The Heavy took the item and looked down at the label, a 'gentle' smile adorned his face. "Will try not to." Was all he said, before turning and opening the camper's door. He exited just as brutishly as he had entered, the vehicle rattling when he slammed the door shut behind him. His trudging footsteps outside diminished, and very soon it was silent once more. Sniper standing, facing the door, and Scout still tucked beneath the bed.

"The fuck were you doing?" The bed shook as Sniper's foot kicked the side of it, causing Scout to flinch. "Playing baseball in here or summin'? Look at this bleedin' place…"

Scout crawled out from beneath the compact space, his shin colliding with the floor as he did so and the pain reignited. "Fuck off would'ja? The Heavy did it, not me…" It was a lie, but at least it got Sniper off his back. Scout wasn't really in the mood for another argument.

Sniper didn't press on the issue. The relief from their narrow escape cooled his temper. He stretched out a hand to support Scout as he hoisted himself to his feet, but the boy pushed it away.

"Besides, you should lock the door…" continued Scout, brushing dust from his torso, an agitated look on his face.

His statement went unnoticed, as Sniper knelt and began clearing up the mess that Scout had knocked from the shelves. The boy stood overhead, watching. A reddish hue was settling over the buildings beyond the window, and it was evident that the sun was lowering. A crow hollered in the far distance, and Scout noticed that the gunfire and noise from the rest of the team had reduced. He turned his attention down to his leg. A brownish-red stain was blotching the white fabric, but it had been there for quite some time and had not increased in size. The blood flow had finally stopped. Dipping his chin, the boy's sight landed on the thick red garment he was still sporting. "Sniper. Y'want your jacket back?"

The Australian glanced up, resting his elbows on his knees as he squatted on the floor. The boy's hands were buried in the pockets of his coat in a way that very much contradicted his inquiry. His appearance could almost be described as protective, the way he held his arms fast against the article of clothing. "You're alright. I got plenty more in the wardrobe." He gave the boy a gentle pat on his non-injured leg with the back of his hand. "Should probably lose it before y'get back to Blu Base tomorrow, though. Teammates might think you've succumbed to the dark side…"

Scout snorted, "naw, I'll just tell 'em I stole it from ya' after beating y'senseless…" he grinned, tugging the zipper of the jacket up and down amusedly.

Sniper smiled, pushing himself to his feet. The cramped van was clean once more- or at least cleaner. It was still a cluttered chaos. He glanced to Scout, "y'er leg aw'right?"

The boy nodded, raising his left leg a couple inches off the ground. The wound throbbed slightly, but it was a considerable amount better than that morning. "Yeah, it's fine. Don't hurt so much no more."

"Good." Sniper turned away, removing his hat and sunglasses and placing them on the kitchen counter. He idly strolled around the compact space, not entirely sure what to busy himself doing. It was almost uncomfortable having another presence in the room with him. He was so used to being alone at this stage. Finally making up his mind, he collapsed down onto one of the seats at the small table and slid a box of ammunition towards him. With hard, calloused fingers, he began separating the mess of bullets within. Allocating them into one pile for his rifle, another for his submachine. After a few moments of doing this, Sniper dared to glance in Scout's direction, and found that the kid hadn't actually budged from his position. The boy was shuffling his weight from one foot to another, looking much like he was hiding something. It wasn't like Scout to be nervous, so something had to be up; but before Sniper could ask, the boy spoke.

"So, um…" his voice was unlevelled and antsy, making Sniper fear whatever it was he was about to say. "Guessin' you're a fag, then?"

Whatever assumption had been rolling around in the Sniper's head, it hadn't even been close. The bluntness was almost brutal. But as he re-ran the words in his head, he noticed that Scout wasn't using a mocking tone. His expression was one of complete seriousness. Sniper didn't know whether to laugh or rage. But it occurred to him that this was a subject he had been avoiding this entire time, and was just irritated that the Scout had brought up something he was so determined to evade. "Well…" he knew he was stepping on eggshells with this. "Not really. I mean, you're the first bloke and… well, yeah." He frowned, focusing his attention on the bullets he was organising. But Scout wasn't about to let the issue drop just yet.

chewing his lip, the boy ran his fingers through his messy hair and stared down at his feet. "S'cool, I'm the same. Like, not a fag! Just, never before, either… I mean, I dun' mind or anything, s'just… better knowing and stuff…" the words churned from his mouth in a rambling mess. He didn't quite know what he was trying to say or how he was supposed to say it.

Silence, once more. Sniper really wished that the boy hadn't brought this up. In all honesty, until yesterday, he had considered himself as straight as they come. But he had managed to confuse himself into such a state that he didn't even want to address the matter. Experimenting with sexuality was a teenage affair, he had told himself. At his age, it just wasn't… right. Your sexual orientation didn't just flip like a light switch at the drop of a hat. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but Scout still wasn't prepared to put his mind at ease.

"I, um… I'm guessing we both ain't fitting in that bed then?" The boy thumbed towards the compact bed beside him, a small smirk on his lips, like he was trying to lighten the mood again.

Sniper avoided eye-contact. "I'm sleeping in the Base. Got another room in there, crows-nest typa' thing…"

Scout nodded, looking down at the older man's hands. It was evident that the awkward situation was becoming too intense for the Australian, as a heavy frown embellished his expression as he fumbled with his ammo box. Scout felt a tinge of amusement. He gave a sudden brash, exaggerated sigh, and pushed away hard from the kitchen counter. He stood there, swinging his arms for a moment, a lively temperament about him- like he was all of a sudden in a fantastic mood- before stepping over to the bed. Sniper couldn't help but watch him curiously over his brow. The boy tore off the Red jacket and T-shirt, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the bed. Flopping down on his chest with an overly-loud grunt.

"What are you doing?" Sniper couldn't withhold his voice any longer.

"Goin' ta' sleep."

"It's seven o'clock…"

"Well there ain't fuck all else to do, is there?" The Bostonian smirked triumphantly.

Sniper's attention turned to the jumbled pile of clothes the boy had discarded in the middle of the floor. "You could at least clear that up first."

The Scout's eyebrow quirked. "Make me." His arms were folded in front of his chin, peering at the Sniper over his bicep.

The Australian glared at him, not entirely sure what game he was playing at. But he decided to do what he normally did when it came to his own Scout's antics, and ignore it. The tense quietness continued for several minutes. Scout lay there, eyes closed lightly, flickering open every so often. Sniper finished separating the large amount of ammo, and put the bullets away into designated compartments of the same box. Pushing the wooden container away from him, he then grabbed at the magazine Scout had been previously reading and skidded it across the table until it was in front of him. Opening the pamphlet to a random page, he began reading an article about defensive fighting stances. It took about 15 minutes to complete the column, and as the Australian was finishing up on the final paragraph, his ears tuned in to the heavy breathing coming from the other side of the room. He lowered the magazine and glanced to Scout, only to see that the boy hadn't moved. But his eyes were shut, and his body rising with each slow breath. He was asleep.

Sniper watched him from across the table, slightly intrigued. It wasn't often he'd even see his own Red Scout in such a state of peace. It was somewhat unusual to see the boy so still and calm. He closed the material he had been reading, and tossed it casually aside, before rising to his feet. He took a few steps in the Scout's direction, before pausing at the bedside. Without the shirt on, the boy looked different in just his flesh. The skin on his back was smooth and unscathed. Very much unlike the rest of the team, whose older bodies were littered with scars and damage. Of course, his wounded leg was going to display a very unpleasant blemish once healed, but it seemed it would be the first on what appeared to be a clean slate. Sniper's attention was drawn to the bundle of clothing on the floor, and he reached down to pick up his jacket. Fumbling with the fabric, he located the inside pocket and withdrew the half-empty pack of cigarettes he had been craving since that morning. Retrieving the lighter from his trousers and striking the fuel into ignition, it took him a moment to realise there was something pulling at his leg. Sniper glanced down, cigarette hanging from his lips. One of Scout's eyes was sleepily open, and his hand was resting on the australian's thigh, tugging at the fabric in a drowsy state.

"Y'okay?" The older man asked, not entirely sure how to respond. Was he really even awake?

Scout grumbled something incoherent, but didn't remove his hand. Sniper didn't know whether to take a step forwards or back. Taking a drag from the cigarette, he reached down and touched the boy's hand experimentally. Their fingers stroked one another for the briefest moment, before Scout withdrew his hand silently and rolled onto his back, exposing himself to the cool evening air. His arms were lifted above him now, folded beneath his head and he seemed to be fully awake as he lay there with his body stretched out. His expressionless eyes bore into Sniper's. Parr from the light furrow of his brow and the way his lips curled inwards ever so slightly. Like he was concentrating on something he didn't fully understand. His gaze was heavy and unsettling, cruelly coaxing a reaction from the other. Asking a question he was refusing to answer for himself. Sniper felt a nervous knotting in his stomach as he finally caught-on to what it was the boy was hinting at. Still, he needed to be sure.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth, holding it gently in his right hand. Cautiously, Sniper closed the gap between his legs and the bed, and watched the boy squirm impatiently beneath him. With sweaty hands and a lump in his throat, the australian knelt, perching himself on the edge of the mattress. He reached his arm over the fidgeting Scout to support himself, before leaning forward. The heat was radiating from the body beneath him and a flicker of need washed across the boy's expression. This wasn't like before; there was thought behind his actions, and it made the Sniper apprehensive.

Scout swallowed; a concoction of nerves, confusion and desire amalgamating deep within himself. As with everything else in life, he wasn't using his head, choosing to respond to impulse instead. Whether it was due to the months without female contact of any kind, or an underlying fondness that had been growing, undetected, he knew that his body wanted this. Did it make him a homo? At that moment, who cared. Scout impatiently grabbed the man by the collar, pulling their faces together. Their lips met, and there was a moment of uneasy stubble-scratching and nose-bumping before they settled into one another. The kiss began slow; neither knowing quite what was expected of one another. But as Scout began attempting to dominate the kiss, inserting his tongue and roughly gripping the older man's hair, Sniper decided that his authority had to be defined now, or never. He grunted hoarsely, dragging his knee onto the bed to give him better access to the task at hand. He pushed a firm hand onto the boy's chest, pinning him securely against the mattress, before assaulting the Scout's mouth with his own tongue. The boy began writhing, desperately seeking friction with the Sniper above him. His crotch found the older man's thigh, and he bucked into it, groaning around the other's mouth as the electric pleasure rippled up his spine. The Australian was entirely on the bed, now, one knee resting between the Scout's leg, the other at the kid's side. He could feel his own excitement building and he was suddenly all-too aware of how quickly this was progressing. He broke the kiss.

"You sure y'wanna do this?" He growled in a whisper, his body fused to the one beneath him and heating up fast. Their mouths were just inches apart and Scout's rapid breathing was warm against his lips. "Remember… it can only happen once. It ain't gonna mean anything…"

Scout's face darkened and he snorted with a breath of laughter, "fuckin' romantic, ain't ya'? Bet you're a real ladykiller." Their teeth collided once more as Scout demanded the closing of the space between them.

He was getting kind of sick with Sniper's persistent plain-speaking sensibility, he just wanted the older man to relax. His hands slipped away from under his head, and trailed down the australian's chest, beginning to unfasten Sniper's shirt. Once unbuttoned, the man frantically pulled off his clothing. The fabric had become like a second skin in the heat and he peeled the sleeves from his arms, all while sustaining his mouth action. Scout played his fingers across the older man's torso, noticing the unmistakable lumps and bumps of scars and wounds, before sliding his hands down further. His fingertips collided with the steel of the belt-buckle, and Scout dared to travel slightly lower. The Sniper tore away from the kiss and groaned savagely into the boy's neck when he cupped the man's erection through the dense fabric. Just before Scout could get the chance to grind against it, Sniper had hoisted himself to his knees and was beginning to unfasten his belt, a glazed look in his eye. The flustered boy lay there, cheeks red and breathing deep as he watched the zipper drag down.

"What're y'doing?" Scout spoke up, hand on his own trouser-front as he tried to readjust his growing hard-on.

Sniper looked at him with heavy, grey eyes. Hands still fumbling with his fly, he gave a somewhat perplexed expression. "You ever sucked a guy off?"

Face turning from embarrassment to bewildered amusement as he pushed himself onto his elbows, "er, _no_. Strangely 'nuff."

With a slightly crooked grin, Sniper placed a hand under the boy's chin. "Don't ye' wanna give it a go?"

Scout frowned uncomfortably, looking between the australian and the swollen member in front of him. He was curious, but not enough to subdue the bubbling apprehension in his stomach. This was too much of a leap for him to make so soon. "Um, I dunno… can't you do me first?" Chewing on his lip, he hoped this was enough of an argument to communicate just how nervous he was about the idea. He didn't want to seem scared.

For a moment, Sniper considered the situation. He needed to maintain dominance and he knew that if he were to get Scout off, the boy would almost certainly not be in the mood to continue afterwards. However, the fear in the boy's eyes was apparent- he didn't want to push him too hard and risk frightening him away. Even if this was going to be the only time they'd have the opportunity to do this. Regrettably, he tucked himself back into his pants and gave a reassuring smile. "No worries…" he mumbled calmly, returning Scout to a lying position with a firm push against his chest.

Now that the tables had once more turned in favour of Scout, the boy felt more in his element. He couldn't even recall the last time a girl had given him oral and he was alive with nerves and impatience as he lay there against the mattress, watching Sniper as the man slowly played his way down the youth's chest. Unbearably slowly. It wasn't long before Scout was back on his elbows, hassling the man to speed up with his expedition to the boy's crotch. Scout placed a hand on the Australian's shoulder, attempting to push him lower, but the older man brushed his persuasive hand away. He was at the boy's stomach now, pressing light kisses against the sensitive areas. Compared to the rest of the team's coarse skin, Scout's was almost womanly. He would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on slightly.

"Come on, man…" Scout whined, somewhat embarrassed by the pitch of his voice. He was all for foreplay, but this was excruciating, especially when he was already so riled up.

Sniper glanced up at him, a devious grin playing at the corners of his mouth. His hand touched the front of the boy's trousers and Scout almost thrust into it, if it hadn't been for Sniper's other hand so carefully holding his hips down. "What's the matter?"

The boy frowned, eyes dark with need. His breathing was steady, but fast. The rugged fabric was beginning to chafe against his excitement. "Get on with it," he breathed hoarsely in response.

The devious grin diminished and was replaced with a playfully sarcastic tone instead. "Naw… not convinced you want it enough." Sniper's movements had stopped now, much to the frustration of Scout. He lay there on top of the boy, supporting himself on his elbows, hands casually placed on the boy's hips. Scout snarled. Patience was an aspect of himself that was rarely exhibited, and his arousal was full to burst.

"Fuck! Look, just…" the Bostonian took over, hands flying to his trousers and began frantically undoing his zipper, but the Sniper's grip landed on the boy's digits and held his hands securely against the sheets. Pinning them in place. Scout's desperate eyes returned to meet the Australian's and he was presented with a look of expectation on the man's face. Like he was waiting for something. They held eye-contact for a short while, the boy fidgeting under the other's weight. His erection rubbed against the fabric of his underwear and the sensation was just too much. He needed this. "Please…" he murmured, barely audibly. It had been the first time that word has passed his lips since enrolling on the Blu team, and it tasted sharp as it spilt from his tongue.

"There we go…" The Sniper gave a satisfied yet lightly patronising grin, patting the boy on the thigh as he began unfastening his trousers. Pulling the article down to the Scout's knees in a firm tug. He might have landed himself with just performing a blow-job, but at least he was still in control.

The boy gasped as the Sniper's mouth enveloped him and he gripped the bedsheets beneath, anchoring himself to the mattress. The damp warmth was blissful and for a moment he thought he would climax just from that sudden pleasure. Gritting his teeth, he held back his voice. The older man was intent with his work, focusing downwards as he massaged his tongue up and down. He didn't make eye-contact with Scout, parr from the occasional fleeting glance and the boy was almost sure that his cold stare alone was going to get him off prematurely. Without his sunglasses, hat or clothing, the intimate situation just became increasingly personal for Scout who rarely saw the other without his layer of attire. He was one of the few to see the Sniper as exposed as this, and he wanted to make the most of it. Scout's fingers entangled in the man's dark hair and he spread his legs to allow better access. He felt vulnerable. Docile, even. It wasn't exactly an unpleasant feeling. The rush was rising now, and his thoughts blurred into a lightheaded delirium. He tried to thrust, to speed the movements up, but he was held firmly to the surface.

"Shit, shit, I'm gonna…" Scout's voice was a slur.

Sniper removed his mouth in a long, sucking motion and it was just enough for the boy to reach climax. The australian shifted backwards, holding the boy's member at the base as the fluid splashed onto Scout's stomach and chest in a series of groans and profanities. He arched his back hard as he rode the last of his orgasm, and fell back against the mattress, totally spent. His cheeks and chest were flushed and breathing hitched as he came back to earth.

With a subtle smile, Sniper pulled his body back into a sitting position, feet placed on the carpet. His arousal was still alive, but he focused his attention on re-buttoning his shirt so as to distract himself from it. The taste of the boy still lingered in his mouth and he realised just how thirsty he was. A pressure could be felt on his hip and he glanced to his left to find Scout gently nudging him with his foot, playfully. A happy smile adorned the boy's face, still in a state of post-orgasm ecstasy. Sniper couldn't help but respond with a smirk. It occurred to him that he was entirely content with the one-sided pleasure that evening, so long as it meant he could be rewarded with that genuinely grateful smile. It was almost enough to make him want to do it all over again.

"Could'ja get me a tissue or summin'?" Scout spoke up, motioning to the mess on his abdomen.

Sniper nodded, tearing his eyes away and pushing his weight onto his feet. He suddenly noticed the smear of grey ash on the carpet, next to the cigarette butt he had been smoking just a short while ago. He couldn't even remember dropping it. If the embers had caught light at some point, Sniper had to wonder if either of them would have even noticed.

...

/Well you can't say I don't love you. A 4000+ word chapter of pretty much just sexual tension- ye happy now? I feel like I need to take several showers now after writing such perversion... >:I/ 


	7. Chapter 7

Scout woke the next morning to the most uncomfortable aching throughout his entire body. He shifted slightly, trying to roll onto his back, but realised he couldn't. The stiffness in his arms wouldn't allow it. It was like he had been asleep for a week and in just the one position no less. Finally, after allowing himself to slowly build consciousness, he hoisted himself onto his elbows and adjusted his eyes to the murky light. A sliver of panic flashed across his mind when he recognised none of his surroundings. But then, slowly, he recollected the events of the previous day. He was still in the camper van. Scout rubbed his face with his wrist, moaning groggily and tried to rearrange his throbbing limbs. Then, it finally occurred to him. He was on the floor.

"What the fuck…" he groaned hoarsely, looking up to see the bed by his side. He'd fallen out. Shit, falling out of bed was something he thought he'd overcome when he was nine.

He clambered to his knees, using the mattress to support himself. His body protested at the sudden movement, the dull, aching pain as persistent as ever. A heavy, low breathing was coming from the side and as he looked to the bed he discovered another presence in the room with him. Sniper had his back to the boy, sleeping on top of the bedsheets, still almost fully-clothed. The diffused light was marred with dust as it peered through the crack in the small curtains, painting a dull strip of white across the sleeping body. Scout frowned, pissed to find the man so restful after his own uncomfortable awakening.

"Hey! What the hell, man, I thought you were sleeping in the base?" He growled, nudging the Sniper harshly in the back.

The man stirred, but didn't respond. He rolled onto his back, still very much asleep.

"Sniper!" Another nudge- or a punch, rather- in the arm and the australian couldn't ignore the boy any longer.

Sniper screwed up his face, peering at the boy through the intrusive brightness. It was apparent he was having difficulty processing where he was and who he was with as well. When at last it dawned on him, the older man closed his eyes once more and ran his fingers through his hair. "Y'awright Mongrel?"

The Bostonian frowned, he wasn't one to be ignored. "No I ain't 'alright'…The fuck was I doin' on the floor?"

Sniper didn't open his eyes. "You kick in your sleep. Pushed y'out…" His hand fell back against the cushion as he began drifting off to sleep again, but Scout wasn't having it.

"Fucking…- thought you were sleeping in the base anyway?"

Sniper opened his eyes once more, eyesight still a little hazy. The boy was kneeling at his bedside, a genuinely irritated expression adorning his face. It wasn't overly surprising that the boy's temper was this short even so early in the morning. His cropped, light-brown hair was tousled and swept to one side, silver dog tags hanging loosely against his bare, tanned chest. It wasn't the same overexposed farmers-tan the rest of the team had after years of combat beneath the searing light, his tan was youthful and smooth. Attractive, even. "That was the plan, yeah… But don't you remember beggin' me so persistently to stay here?" He teased with a grin, lifting a gentle hand to the Scout's chin, who pushed it away in a furious blush.

"Bullshit. Didn't _beg_…" he rose, grabbing his clothes from the floor as he did so and hobbled across the room. "Body's fucking _killing_ me, man."

The Sniper took his time getting out of bed. It had been an exhausting couple of days and the torment of it all had really taken it's toll on his energy levels but, finally, it was all coming to an end. The prospect of losing the company he had acquired was, of course, disheartening, but it would mean he could finally be safe within his own team. Provided that the Medic or Spy didn't inform the rest of the members, and considering their own detached natures, their betrayal was unlikely. In all honesty, his reason for not returning to the base that night was due to his fear of bumping into either of them. His weakness when it came to Scout was almost shameful, and he was anxious of their disdaining gazes after withholding such a high reputation for so long. Still, it had been nice sharing a bed for once. Even if it had resulted in him booting the kid on the floor due to the cramped conditions.

"So, battle's at noon, right? If I remember…" Scout spoke up, picking at a chunk of bread he had found tucked away in some foil. Without a set meal for 2 days straight, he was officially in realms of hunger he had never before experienced. For such a small person, he ate as much as any Heavy, blaming his unappeasable appetite on a growth spurt he was likely to have 'any day now'. Despite the fact he had been using that excuse since early teens. He wouldn't complain about it, though. Not to Sniper.

"Yeah, had better head back to barracks, actually." The older man responded, pulling his shirt across his arms. "Gotta be briefed. Probably be gone 'bout an hour, I expect. When I get back, we'll tuck you in the back of the jeep and hit the road with the rest of the team… Hopefully y'won't be seen…" He gave a humoured smile, but it was overridden with his anxiety. Scout found no reassurance in it.

They were both quiet for a short while, crow's yelling high above. This certainly wasn't going to be the biggest, but it was a hurdle nonetheless. The last of them, really. It was enough to give Scout a glimmer of hope. Dismal as it was. Sniper got to his feet, scooping up his jacket that Scout had so carelessly strewn across the floor that night. The mud that had previously been so wet on the material had now dried, and he was able to brush it off quite easily. Despite the fact that he had at least five others in his wardrobe, he had always worn just the one. The fabric was soft with age and comfortable, making the other stiff jackets he owned inferior in comparison. He shrugged it across his shoulders, stepping towards Scout. "Smells like ye'…" He mumbled with a gentle smirk.

Scout cocked his brow. "Oh, yeah? Whadda' I smell like?" His tone of voice was one of genuine curiosity.

"Fuckin' disgusting." The Sniper chuckled jokingly, closing the space between them. He pressed his lips against the boy's, kissing him in the silence. It had become increasingly natural, the affectionate acts they shared. It seemed almost a shame it had taken until now. However, the tender moment was quickly vanquished by Scout opening his mouth and the Sniper tasting the half-consumed bread on the other's tounge. He immediately drew his face back in repulsion. "You're vile."

Scout grinned impishly, jaw returning to motion as he continued chewing the bread. "Hey. S'what you get. Might I add that I smell better than cigarettes and jarate."

Sniper smiled, but didn't return the quip. It was already coming up to 9am and tardiness wasn't tolerated when Soldier was leading the briefing. He picked up the box of ammo he had so distractedly assorted the night before and pushed his sunglasses onto his nose. "Don't make any noise. Don't want another situation like yesterday, do we?"

The boy couldn't speak due to the mouthful of bread. He just tilted his head slightly, frowning in a gesture that very much expressed 'fuck off, would you?'

"Good boy." The Australian smirked condescendingly, giving the Scout a tip of the hat in parting as he exited the van.

Scout stood there for a moment, eyes on the door. As bearable as the stillness was when the Sniper was in the room with him, the moment he left, it was almost unendurable. It was like the man carried the quietness with him. Supported it on his shoulders, making it more tolerable for those around him. It must've been convenient having him around, living in such a remote place on Earth. Scout looked down at his bread, his appetite no longer so demanding, and he placed it on the counter behind him. He suddenly saw it, behind the golden clock that Sniper still had yet to return to the Spy, a rolled-up piece of parchment that was half tucked between the toaster and a stack of books. He pulled it out from its hiding place, unfolding it before him. It was a map- or a blueprint, rather- of the Red Base. An incredibly valuable and sought-after item of information for an opposing team. The Blu Spy would kill for intel such as this. Quite literally. And yet, a pang of guilt crept it's way into the Scout's subconscious. Once before had he taken advantage of the Sniper's benevolence, and look where that had gotten him. At this stage, taking the map would easily make the difference of life and death for him. Was something so petty really worth all he had come through? Scout re-folded the map, tucking it gingerly back where he had found it. Careful not to make it obvious he had touched it. It didn't feel right, releasing an opportunity such as this one. Not characteristic of himself. Scout brushed away his confused contemplations, placing his hands in his pockets to keep them still. In a sickly, unnerving kind of way, he felt virtuous.

Time was dragging. It had only been 15 minutes, and yet Scout could've sworn an hour had already passed him by, and then some. It occurred to him that his prison cell had been roomier than this cramped vehicle, and the irony made him smirk a little. Of course, aspects such as a bed to sleep in, food and water were wasted on one as inconsiderate as he. Scout was sitting on the bed, mulling over whether to remove his leg bandages or not. In all honestly, he was somewhat frightened by what he might find under there. The pain had thankfully diminished overnight, and he was worried that by reacquainting himself with his wound, the agony might begin all over again. It took a few moments for him to realise that the front door was swinging open.

He was unprepared. There was no time to hide, or even get up. His only hope was to pray that it was the Sniper returning 45 minutes early. His heart hammered as the man stepped into the large vehicle, a wisp of smoke encircling him. Their eyes met, and Scout froze. His breath held. He was surprised by the lack of emotional response in the other's expression, as concealed as it was by the balaclava.

"Scout. How's your mother?" The Spy breathed, his body almost a silhouette against the open door.

A jest often made on the battlefield, in this situation, Scout had no hostile response prepared. He sat there, fingers still touching his bandages, dumbfounded and infuriated that he hadn't heard him coming sooner.

"I'm glad to see you enjoyed the benefits of my Deadringer. Do remind Sniper to return my property sooner next time, though, I don't revel in retrieving my own borrowed belongings…" He picked up the pocket-watch that was resting on the counter, turning it in his hand as he inspected it for damage.

Scout frowned, slowly and carefully getting to his feet. When the moment presented itself, he would run for the open door. But the Spy didn't seem intent on killing the boy. Although, in all fairness, it was impossible to trust the word 'seemingly' when it came to a Spy. The Frenchman's words echoed in the Scout's head. 'Borrowed'? The Spy was in on the escape situation too? The Bostonian was confused, and he didn't like it. He had experienced his fair share of confusion since being taken captive, the last thing he wanted was having it topped up.

"No need to look so frightened, _cher_, I'm not here to finish the job." He glanced down at Scout's bandaged leg, recollecting the boy's close-call with the sentry missile.

Scout spat, "ain't fucking frightened. Bit late in the day for _that_, don't y'think?"

Red Spy nodded agreeably, grey smoke billowing from his lips and fogging the already murky air. He appeared unarmed, although it would be unlikely. Nonetheless, he stood there before Scout as casual as a man waiting at a bus stop. "Must say, I am surprised to find you here. Thought Sniper released you yesterday?"

Scout didn't respond. His hateful gaze was concentrated on the Spy's own.

The man sighed, somewhat wearily. He knew the boy wasn't going to be eager to divulge information. "Where is that Bushman anyway?"

No response.

The Spy pondered for a moment, returning the golden clock to his trouser pocket. "Ah, yes, the 'briefing'. Don't see much point in attending, myself. After ten years of flawless performances I'm sure I can manage without having my job 'briefed' to me."

Scout couldn't contain a snort. "Could've done with one the other week when I bashed your faggot skull in at Sawmill…"

"Au contraire, mon petit…" The Spy took a step closer, removing the cigarette from his lips and holding it between fingers. "I'm not the one in custody, miles away from your precious medic."

The boy snarled, hands clenching into fists. He had to keep calm. If his theory was correct, and the Spy was on his side, then he had to keep it that way.

"Speaking of 'faggotry', I noticed that the Sniper didn't return to base last night. Wouldn't want information about your little antics being slipped to members of your own team, would we?" His grin was malicious and indulgent.

Scout was fighting back his fists now. He was emitting detestation. Ever since finding out about his mother and the Red Spy, their opposing positions was taken to a personal level. Scout had said he would kill to have 'ten minutes alone with the asshole', but now that the opportunity had arisen, he very much regretted those words. Especially when he was unarmed and in enemy territory.

The Spy was dissatisfied with Scout's lack of response. It wasn't quite so much fun when the boy wasn't arguing back. "And what would your mother think? Already so disappointed, this would really just round it off nicely…" He was pushing boundaries now, he knew it, but he was going to coax a reaction from the boy if it killed him.

Scout's already seething expression darkened. But when he spoke, his voice was level and controlled. "You know as well as I do that she don't give one shit 'bout you when you're not in Boston. You're nothing' but a superficial distraction. You think you're taking advantage, but she's got you wrapped 'round her finger summin' good. She ain't needed dad in twenty-five years, what makes you think she needs _you_…"

The Frenchman's smirk vanished. It was a slightly more malevolent response than he had been hoping for. The following words seemed to just formulate on his tongue and spill from his lips all too naturally. "They made an offer, you know…" he said, stepping away from the Scout after a slight hesitation, peering through the curtains for the vehicle's owner. "That's why he's doing it. Keeping you alive, that is. $8,000 if he returns you this afternoon."

His leg suddenly throbbed, causing Scout's balance to waver just slightly. But he didn't want to sit down. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would the rest of you try to kill m-"

"Because he wants the reward for himself, you stupid boy. Well, himself and I. The rest of the Red Team don't know about the bargain." Of course, it was a lie. All of it. But saying it gave such a malicious thrill that the Spy hardly felt an ounce of remorse. He watched as the boy's eyes bore into him, then faltered. Scout's eyes unfocused, looking off into the distance.

The pain in his leg combined with that going on deep within himself, and Scout found he was sitting back on the mattress.

The Spy exhaled noisily, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the sink with a hint of satisfaction. He looked down at the boy, who was leaning on his knees, completely silent. It was a perfect opportunity to thrust the knife into his exposed back, he couldn't help but mentally note. But it seemed he had already done so. "I'm sorry…" he spoke in a low voice, delicately reaching his hand out and touching the boy's shoulder. "Think of it this way- we all win, oui?" The thrill wasn't quite so intoxicating any longer, and Spy thought it best to leave before he attempted to get another fix.

The caravan door clicked shut almost silently. Scout had to glance up to be sure the man had actually left. His shin ached, but that was the last thing on his mind, now. He wanted to run. He'd get home of his own accord. But, obviously, it was impossible. He needed the Sniper, and it made him nauseous to admit it. Scout wasn't one to often delve into the inner workings of his heart. He had grown up learning that if every little negativity affected him, he wouldn't survive. He knew better than to dwell on useless emotions such as sorrow and self-pity. He stood, shaking a little as he put weight on his injured leg. Scout didn't hesitate; he grabbed the blueprints next to the toaster and stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

…

/My god, it's like an episode of bloody Eastenders. This is the kind of dramatic crap my mum gushes over, not me… AH WELL just keeping things interesting, eh? Yeah, Spy's turned out to be a royal douchebag. Things were getting too lovey-dovey for me, had to bring the joy down a notch. Or two. I've had several ideas for how I want to end this story, but I can't seem to decide. The prospect of having Sniper be the Blu Spy in disguise the entire time occurred to me at one point. It made me happy. But then I realised that that ideas was kinda.. well, dumb and impossible. So it was scrapped. Guess you'll just have to WAIT AND SEE hurrr.

As always, reviews are always very, very much appreciated. Let's me know people are actually reading this crap, ahaaaaa.. -not awkward-/


	8. Chapter 8

The tire collided with a deep crack in the icy road, causing the land rover to jolt violently. The vehicle wasn't particularly well suspended, so naturally Sniper's head nearly bumped the roof of the car. He knew his behind would be killing him by the end of the journey. The vehicles formed a line as the Red Team lumbered south towards Sawmill, one truck following another as the formation wove it's way through ragged mountain passes. Trees flickered past the window in a blur, mountains darted in and out of vision in the foggy distance. It was positively barren, outside the safety of the road. A frozen wilderness that seemed hopelessly endless. It appeared to summarise the war they were fighting quite well.

Even with the heater relentlessly working to keep the land rover warm, the icy exterior penetrated the old pickup like it was made of tissue paper. Sniper shivered violently. Scout had been unnervingly quiet since he had returned from the brief. Any attempts at conversation or displays of affection had been brutally given the cold shoulder, and the australian had long since given up wondering why. He guessed it was just down to the dangerous situation- that, or his leg was giving him bother. Either way, it wasn't worth giving the boy the satisfaction of mothering him. If the kid decided he didn't want to talk, then so be it. Still, Sniper couldn't subdue the niggling grief he felt at this sudden hostility. He couldn't for the life of him think of any reason it could be _his_ fault.

Another particularly hard collision with a pothole and Sniper thought it worth calling into the cargo area behind to check the boy hadn't broken his ass sitting on that solid, metal floor. "Y'alright back there, Mate?" It was an experimental question, really, made to just see if the boy had decided that moping around wasn't a lot of fun for either of them. But there was no reply. A quick check in the mirror confirmed that the kid was still there; sitting with his knees pressed to his chin. "Suit y'self…" Sniper mumbled, reverting his eyes back to the road. He was at the back of the formation, with the soldier's truck driving just in front. It was something he had ensured when setting off an hour ago, that he would be behind the rest. He couldn't risk anybody catching a glimpse of the Blu member he had huddled into the back of his vehicle. He lit up a cigarette, daring to open the window just a crack to allow the smoke to escape the car. Whatever satisfaction the cigarette had promised was quickly vanquished by the icy blast from the window. Nonetheless, he smoked the damn thing anyway.

Mountains turned to valleys; valleys turned to forests. They weren't driving particularly fast, the snowy roads made sure of that. Explosions erupted from the vehicles in front as restless men fired their artillery at the surroundings, much to the booming distaste of Soldier. It was difficult to get into the same hearty enthusiasm when dealing with such a consuming situation. It would be great to see this ordeal over, and be able to involve himself with the team without constantly worrying where Scout was or be overwhelmed with the need to get back to him to make sure the boy was safe. Whether the boy appreciated his self-sacrificing labour was no longer important. Scout's emotions, at that moment in time, were a mystery.

"Was thinking'…" Sniper hollered again over the noise of the engine, "Announcer might think you dead or something. Might've wiped you from the respawn system; so to be on the safe side, we should really have a Blu member come and collect you or something? If you could contact them on that headgear of yours…?" His eyes returned to the mirror once more, subconsciously. It took a moment for the australian to process what Scout was doing, but sure enough, the boy was wrestling with the back latch of the land rover. He was trying to get out. Leather boot slammed into the brake pedal, and Scout was thrown to the front of the cargo area, just behind Sniper's seat. "FUCK," the bostonian fumed, hands clutching his already injured leg.

"In god's name do you think y're doing?" Sniper growled, leaning over the back of his chair. The vehicle was at a standstill, and the rest of the team drove on ahead, unaware that Sniper was no longer following. "dunno what your issue is, Mongrel, but it's starting to piss me off and no mistake."

Scout glared up at him, rubbing the side of his head which had collided with the floor. His expression was damning, but he said nothing. In truth, he daren't open his mouth. There was a spite that had been boiling up since his encounter with the Red Spy that had reached a pressure he was afraid to release. He hadn't felt this betrayed in a long time, but he didn't want Sniper to know it.

"You'll have yourself a nice, long walk in the snow before you reach Blu Base if you hop off here, kid…" The truck revved back into motion. Sniper had to drive pretty fast to catch up with the team.

The remainder of the journey was carried out in silence. Scout didn't attempt to escape again. He wasn't entirely sure why he had tried. Likely because he couldn't bear hearing the words the Spy had told him materialising in the Sniper's. _Of course he wants me to contact my team; to let them know I'm safe so they can come and transfer the money… _

He massaged his leg. The bandages had shifted since yesterday and were brown with old blood, with a speckling of a brighter red as his wound had reopened upon the impact with the vehicle. It hurt.

Fog caressed the grey buildings as they approached Sawmill. Rain had turned the snow to slush, proving quite difficult to drive up the steep heights. The truck's roared as they hauled the Red team to the summit, rain slashing at the windows and thunder bellowing quietly in the distance. Scout peered carefully over the Sniper's shoulder and through the windscreen, he considered making a second run-for-it, but he knew it would be too risky now that they had arrived. His eyes glanced down to the man's legs, where the sniper rifle was resting against his knee- he guessed it had been put there, rather than in the cargo area, for a reason- then to the shiv on his lap. Making a lunge for it would be much more difficult this time. It would mean he'd have to lean directly over the australian to reach it, which obviously wasn't the best of tactics. Who knew what the Sniper would do if he were to attempt threatening the man a _second_ time.

"Get down," the Sniper growled, noticing the Scout in the corner of his vision. It would only take the soldier to look in his truck mirror to see the boy. He gave the scout a nudge with his elbow, who responded by shoving the limb away from him, almost a little childishly. Nonetheless, he sat back against the cold floor like asked.

The land rover slowed to a halt, and the boisterous shouting from the Red's had amplified as they dismounted their trucks. Sniper opened his door, exiting quickly with his weapons and slamming it hard behind him. Scout frowned, not entirely sure what to do. He daren't look over the front seats incase one of the enemies got a glance of him. Time dragged, and the excited noise quietened as the team headed off to the front lines. Scout began to worry that Sniper had left along with them. He didn't know his way around this side of the arena, and he'd almost definitely get lost- but the back doors opened with a loud clang.

"Come on," the man said darkly, his tone had considerably lost a lot of its warmth.

Scout clambered out the back of the vehicle, sliding his cap on and headphones across his ear. His demeanour very much resembled a boy being confronted by his teacher. He didn't look the assassin in the eye, shuffling his feet awkwardly and trying too hard to seem confident. Sniper hadn't noticed, though, his mind was distracted by the mission ahead of him- and not the one he was meant to be busying his mind on. He hadn't entirely thought-through the process of getting Scout safely back to Blu team. If the boy was still logged in with the respawn system, it would take only a single bullet to send the boy back to his base. However, it wasn't guaranteed that they still had his DNA registered with the respawn, and he had come too far now to watch the boy die from such a simple mistake.

"Should I take my shirt off?"

Sniper's thoughts were interrupted, and he paused for a moment, analysing what exactly he had just heard. He turned his attention to Scout who already had the T-shirt lifted up his stomach.

"'cause, y'know, it won't be so obvious I'm a Blu and shit…" Scout justified, eyebrow slightly cocked in a way that said 'not for your satisfaction, asshole'.

The man took the scout by his arm, marching hurriedly out of view. "As _godly_ as your body is, Scout, this probably isn't the best time to be flaunting y'self."

Scout failed to pick up on the sarcastic tone. "That's NOT what I was-"

A hand clapped across the boy's mouth, probably a little harder than Sniper intended, but he was sick of having every risky situation they were in being endangered by the bostonian's lack of volume control. "Y'take that thing off then you're gonna have _both_ Red's and Blu's shootin' at ye', understand?" He didn't give the Scout the opportunity to answer this rhetorical question, as they were moving again. Sniper dragging the boy behind him as he made his way through the lesser-taken paths to the front of the arena. The boy was fighting with the vice-like grip across Scout's bicep, but Sniper didn't loosen his clutch. His determination was strong, now. Failure might've been a consideration before, but now, it no longer existed.

They arrived at a small storage area, tucked away to the side. He hurried Scout behind the crates. "Look, just stay back here. When the battle's over, make a run for your team. Don't leave before then, just incase you get shot at, alright?"

Scout's hardened expression faltered for a moment. He was going to leave, _now_? "Wait, what about the exchange?"

Sniper frowned questioningly. He was beginning to panic a little, time was running out before the battle began, he really couldn't afford for Scout to be disagreeing with such a straightforward plan.

Spurred on by the man's apparent lack of understanding, the boy continued. "I thought… thought a Blue member was coming for me?"

"Well, you're going to have to arrange that yourself," Sniper responded with a derisive tone, tapping the side of his head in a gesture to Scout's earpiece.

"But… then who's bringing the money over?" The question was spoken quietly. Scout hadn't wanted Sniper to know that he was aware of the ransom situation, but he was too confused to not ask.

The Australian's expression was one of bemused dismay. He didn't have time for games. "_What_ money?"

The same expression reflected onto Scout's own. "The money. The eight thousand. Spy said-"

"MISSION BEGINS IN 60 SECONDS." The announcer's voice bellowed across the arena.

Sniper couldn't humour Scout's blathering any longer. "I gotta go." He lifted a cagey hand to the boy, caressing his chin briefly in a sentimental, yet reserved fashion. Scout had made it clear that intimacy was no longer condoned between them, so he withheld the need to embrace the boy. With a slight hesitation, he left, hurrying back to his team. It hurt slightly, to let him go like that. Especially after all that had happened. But he decided it was better this way. Scout obviously didn't share the same affection, and so their enemy status could be easily reignited without the threat of sentimental value getting in the way. At least on Scout's part. Sniper knew it was something he himself was going to have to work on.

The boy didn't take cover. He stood there, leaning on the crate as if the sniper were still on the other side of it. He was so puzzled he didn't even notice the Announcer count away the last five seconds. The sound of gunfire shook the rain, and explosions began erupting both left and right. Scout slowly lowered himself to the muddy floor, pressed against the wooden crate._ Had Sniper been bluffing? But why? Why would he continue lying if it was obvious Scout knew about the ransom?_ The bostonian pressed his muddy hands to his forehead. _What's going on? _

Before Scout had time to evaluate the situation any longer, a flicker of blue passed the peripheral of his vision. He jumped up, without even thinking. It had been so long since he had seen that colour on anything but himself, he just couldn't control himself. The Blu Spy was jogging past, with the mask of the Red's medic. Scout whispered as loudly as he could from his hiding spot, which turned out to be pretty loud after all, "_hey, Spy! Dude, over here!"_

The Blu member halted, glancing around himself as subtly as he could muster when at last his vision found the Scout cowering behind the crates. Instantaneously, he raised his pistol to the boy.

"No, look, here," Scout pulled at his blue shirt, bewildered that his own team member was threatening him. "It's me, Scout! Look, dude, could'ya help me get back to base?"

The pistol didn't lower.

"Jeez, Spy, come on…"

The Blu member raised the mask slightly, after glancing around to check for Red's, and took a step towards the boy. Still keeping his distance. "And how do I know you're not a spy yourself?"

Scout looked bemused. "What? Jesus. The Blu's took me here so you could give them the $8,000 for me!"

The boy couldn't see beneath the Spy's mask, but if he could, he'd behold an expression of upmost confusion. "Nobody's giving anyone $8,000…"

Bemusement turned to alarm, "but… the ransom! They told me you were paying to keep me alive!"

"What? What ransom?"

Oh shit.

Scout's eyes wandered for a moment as the truth hit him. A mixture of relief and fear washed over him, which was quickly numbed when the cold tip of the pistol touched his forehead.

"I don't know what you are talking about- but three days that boy has been gone, there is no chance he could have survived out here. I will shoot you. If you are really Scout, then you will return to base like you wanted…"

No.

"No, Spy, wait! It's Scout, I'm not a Red!"

The metal within the pistol clinked ever so quietly as the trigger pulled taught on the barrel. Just before the Spy had the chance to pull the trigger the remainder of the way, the shine of a rifle glinted in the corner of his eye.

Sniper's steady hands held the rifle to the Blu's Spy's head, completely still. He had the stock pressed against him in such a professional manner you would think he was shooting as something a mile away. Rain slid down his face and across his sunglasses, marring his vision slightly, but he did not stir. "Not very observant of ye'. But I imagine it can be hard to hold attention when that kid's off on one…"

Spy continued facing Scout, but his eyes were fixated on the barrel just inches from his face. He lowered his gun slowly.

"The boy isn't no spy. Feel free to prod him with that knife o' yours all you like afterwards, but for now I just want you to take him back to the Blu base safely. He was no good to us as a hostage…"

The tension was strong. Although the spy was no longer threatening Scout with the pistol, it was held firmly in his grip. He was confused, to say the least. But with a sniper's rifle just an inch from one's head, question's weren't a priority.

Scout's attention was focused on Sniper. The arctic cold was biting at his bare arms, but it went unnoticed. A concoction of emotions blazed within himself. It was overwhelming, so all he could do was stare. The rifle was finally lowered, and the australian donned his blade instead.

"I don't know if he's still programmed with the respawn… so don't get any spy-testing ideas until you're sure he's back on the system…"

Spy turned his head at last to the assassin. His spare hand had not left it's pocket, and his thumb fondled the Dead Ringer's button gingerly. He could press it. Escape the Sniper's deathly range, if only slightly. However, he glanced to Scout. The boy was a mess. The rain was soaking the fabric of the boy's T-shirt and it dripped into puddles around his muddy shoes. The hair's on his arms stood on end as they braced themselves against the cold air. Even the flecks of green could be seen in his dull grey eyes. No mask could reflect such a level of detail. His eyes trailed down further and something unusual caught his attention. One leg of the scout's trousers had been raised slightly, revealing a ragged-looking bandage beneath. Scout wasn't the type to wrap bandages during a battle, and it couldn't have been the medic's handiwork; not with a medigun at hand. It was certainly a curious thing. He brought his attention back to the Red, who's shiv glistened with rainwater. A moment went past as the frenchman assessed the situation. At last, Spy began backing away, carefully. His eyes locked with the Sniper's, inquisitively. He had never given the man a moment's thought before, especially not when the only time he really acquainted himself with the man was with the australian's back.

Scout cautiously followed, somewhat timidly. He was still watching Sniper. Eyes longing, almost tearful. He only hoped his gratuity could be apparent in them. The desire to apologise was overwhelming. He wanted to explain himself, to justify his actions, to tell Sniper about the Red Spy and everything he had been told. He felt guilt not only for not trusting the man but for not telling him from the start how grateful he was for everything. It had been so long since Scout had witnessed benevolence in another man's actions towards him that he hadn't even recognised it. And now, it was too late. Taking another step away, he felt a pressure in his hip, and suddenly was reminded of what was in his pocket. He removed it quickly, fumbling with the blue, wet paper.

"_Scout_." The Blu Spy hissed as he watched the boy approach the Sniper once more, nervous of other Red members and Blu's as well for that matter.

Sniper frowned confusedly as the folded parchment was stuffed into his hand. His looked up at Scout through orange lenses.

The boy tilted his hat up slightly, meeting the taller man's gaze. "I'm sorry." He mumbled. Another word that was a first to pass his lips to any one other than his mother. "I thought… Spy told me… I'm really sorry."

"Scout, _allez_!" The frenchman insisted, adjusting his mask.

The boy backed away once more, chewing his lip, repressing his need to say more. It ached to do so, but he turned, running after the Blu Spy. Bullets zipped past their heads and thudded at their feet, but it went unnoticed on Scout's part.

The sniper gave a weak smile as he watched the scout leave. The fondness he had grown for the boy was unhealthy to have for an enemy. He had known this all along, and yet had done nothing to restrain his desires. He couldn't help but feel a sting of culpability for allowing Scout to get so entangled in his emotional mess. And still, he was glad of it. He couldn't deny that he would have happily continued with Scout if it hadn't been for their imposed differences, and that made him thankful for the time they had spent together, brief and perilous as it was. The only thing that could possibly continue from now would be indifference. He doubted he could ever be capable of assaulting Scout on the battlefield again, even if the bullet's wouldn't be fatal. Perhaps the team's would find out about their actions. Maybe the Blu Spy would inform the rest of their team of the boy's and his affair. Maybe they would tell the announcer, and both would be banished from Team Fortress altogether; be given the opportunity to reunite in their ostracising. Or, perhaps, they wouldn't. It certainly wasn't going to be easy from there on, and only time could tell what was to become of their fleeting relationship, yet Sniper couldn't help but be uplifted. It had been a short-lived hurricane of emotions, but it had made him feel alive again. And for a job that immersed itself on death and destruction, life was a rare thing indeed.

The End.

/Well it might've taken some time, but there you go! I can't believe I've actually finished something. Oh, the pride! It's now 4am, that's how committed I am to you guys! Harr..

I'd love to hear what you've all thought of the story. And if you'd like me to write more fanfiction, give me some ideas for what I should start next? It doesn't even have to be Team Fortress. I have no idea where to go from here…

Many thanks for reading and the support throughout! xx/


	9. Epilogue

/Hi everyone! It's been a good 10 bloody months since this story was completed, and I'm still surprised by its success. As a way of thanking everyone for the support, I had this epilogue written up a few months ago for you- but it's taken me until now to finalise it. Hopefully most of you will still remember the story well enough to enjoy this little addition. Either way, enjoy~/

The rifle almost slipped in his sweaty grasp, and the Australian threw each hand down to his trousers to dry them on the fabric frantically. The team wasn't exactly losing- but christ, they weren't far off it. It had been barely 15 minutes into the battle and already he was fighting to defend the final checkpoint, the rail car on the horizon and approaching slowly. He was firing bullets at an almost continuous rate now, picking off the blue members in a frenzy of trigger-pulls' and reloads', fingers stiff from the effort of it. The heat didn't make matters any easier, either. After almost an entire week of rain, he had prayed to the big man upstairs for a day of good weather to lift his spirits; it seemed his wish had been granted, all too regrettably, as now he couldn't think of anything he'd rather more than to jump into a tub of icy water. Sniper mopped the sweat from his brow and took another shot- a Medic. He must've been injured- bloke went down like a log. The assassin lifted his eye away from the scope to seek his next target, when he realised that the field was clear. Not a Blue in sight. Taking advantage of the precious moment, he allowed his muscles to relax and took a long drag of oxygen. Bullets and screams echoed in the distance; a sound that might've once stricken him with terror, now had the faintest ability to calm his tempestuous thoughts and ground him to the world.

Pulling himself away from the balcony railing where he was positioned, he took a moment to stretch his limbs. His elbows were raw from where he had them resting on the concrete, tiny stones embedded in his skin. Sniper lowered his rifle momentarily to massage the aching flesh, only to hear the door to the room creak open from his left. What progressed was a somewhat ungraceful scramble for the rifle, and then for the machete, upon realising which weapon would be of more use in such close range. Fortunately, though, he spotted the red outfit appear at the doorway. It was the Soldier.

"Bloody hell almighty…" The assassin vented, hand to his heart. It wasn't often he allowed himself to break from concentration like that, even for a moment, and it had almost cost him his life.

Marching over to where the Sniper was crouching, the Soldier knelt beside him, rocket launcher slung across his muscular soldier. "How're we doin'?" He spoke gruffly, a cruel grin plastered across his face, "plenty of head-shots?"

It wasn't usual for the american to come inquire into the proficiency of the other teammates, least of all Sniper. It may have been part of a new regulation that the Administrator was insisting on. "A fair few aw'right," he commented between heavy breaths, composing himself as he looked down at the stark battlefield below; the checkpoint still entirely unthreatened.

The larger man hoisted the large projectile to the floor. "E'yup. Only a matter of time though- 'til they thrash us, that is. Those Blue's, I'm telling ya', they're on the ball today." The teammate nodded in thought, looking out across the railings. That ridiculous grin still cracking his features.

Sniper gave him a dubious glare over the top of his aviators. "I… reckon we can handle 'em, mate," he offered in response, not entirely accustomed to this defeatist manner coming from the supposed leader of the team.

The Red didn't return the eye contact. "Nahh," he drawled, cheeks glowing as the grin tautened, "way I see it, we're just a bunch'a useless morons." The smirk broke into a snort, and the Soldier lifted the back of his hand to his lips to suppress the crude chuckle.

He had to admit, this was probably the worst job of a disguise he had seen from a Spy yet. Maybe the Blue team had hired a new guy, and somehow completely neglected to train any sense into him. Sniper's hand tightened around the machete and he rotated himself a little, entirely facing his alleged comrade to avoid exposing his back. He prepared to make a swing with the blade, when the Soldier broke out into laughter.

"Oh man," he heaved between his bellows, "I can't, dude, I just can't!" A veil of spiralling mist vaporised around the figure as the disguise dissolved away, leaving the Blue Scout crouching in it's place, biting the back of his hand as he tried to compose himself. "Freakin' hell, man, I dunno how Spy keeps a straight face doing this shit all day!"

That would explain it. His brow drew into a frown as he watched the boy self-indulge in the aftermath of his little stunt. He honestly didn't know whether to be pleased or furious to see him again. It had been a month since he freed him at Sawmill and had reverted none-too contently back into his usual existence. It was like nothing had happened, though- and for the best, really, as both their necks hadn't just been on the line, but the guillotine had only missed them by a fraction of a millimetre. Any attempt at keeping in contact would've been _asking_ for an execution. And yet, here he was, kneeling beside him, so far into Red territory you'd think the boy had a death wish.

"Where the hell did you pick that thing up?" Sniper growled, motioning down to the Spy's Disguise Kit in the Scout's hand.

Turning the small case in his palm as if this was the first he'd seen of it, the Scout finally stifled his snorting laughter. "Grabbed it from that son'ova'bitch as we came outta' base at the start of the mission," he responded, "french rat didn't see it comin'."

"Jesus christ…" Sniper spat as he looked out once more to the view below.

"Wha'? Ain'tchu happy to see me?" His amused smirk was wiped clean from his expression, replaced instead by one of mild aggression.

He glanced to the Scout, lips curled with frustration. "Y'er gonna get yourself thrown outta y'er team, pulling stunts like that…"

The boy frowned, twisting his arms to bring the duffle bag from his back. He stuffed the stolen item into its depths. "Don' give a shit." Scout stated despondently, avoiding the older man's gaze altogether. He slung the sack to his side and lowered himself into a cross-legged sitting position, pulling the bill of his hat across his forehead to defend himself from the sun's spiteful glare. "Was thinkin' of quitting the team, anywho."

Gently sliding the machete back into its sheath, the Australian lifted the rifle back into his arms, but just held it at his chest. There still wasn't a Blue in sight- technicalities aside. "Don't be so dramatic," he gave in response, knowing full-well that the boy's statement was likely made for shock-factor purposes only.

"I'm serious, man," Scout continued, attempting eye-contact to portray his sincerity. "Ever since I got back, I dunno, shit's been different… " his voice quietened, "don't take me seriously no more. Plus, Ma's been on the phone non-stop since she found out about the hostage sich'ation… want's me home and all that. I dunno." He trailed his finger on the dirty concrete, making lines in the dust, a pensive look on his face.

It was none of Sniper's concern, he reminded himself. He cared for the kid, honestly he did, but he certainly wasn't going to get involved with any of his personal crap. His job depended on it. "Gotta toughen up, Boyo." He muttered in a low voice. "Ain't no use giving up."

He'd expected a protest. 'I'm plenty fucking tough,' or 'you're one ta talk, shitkicker.' But there came no reply. Sniper stole a glance to his left to be sure the boy was actually still there, but the kid was staring at him now. Brow furrowed in an expression of pain, his lips pulled tight as if he were concentrating intensely. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his T-shirt as he fought the following words from his lips.

"Missed you wicked bad." He mumbled, "so bad, sometimes…"

Sniper held the eye contact a moment longer, indulging in the intimacy of it, before snapping away and lifting a gloved hand to his face. Pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut, he let out a terse groan. "Can't be saying shit like that, kid, y'just can't."

The boy bristled. "Why the fuck not?" He condemned, a little louder than appreciated. "I don't see what the big fucking deal is! Y'like me, don't ya?"

He wasn't going to entertain this ridiculous subject any longer. Lifting the barrel to his face, he turned from the distressed boy and fired squarely at the skull of the Blu Spy- who was ambling about in a disorientated stupor without the use of his beloved disguise kit. He reloaded swiftly and brought the scope to his eye once more, following the frantic movements of the Demoman, waiting for the Scot to pause so he could make the abrupt kill.

"Hey, freakin' pay attention ta' me!" Scout insisted, bringing his hand down hard on the barrel of the rifle, jerking it away from the Red's face. His expression was one of desperation. His green eyes gouging into the older man's with a concoction of despair and aggravation. "Y'like me, right?"

"I don't have an answer for y-"

"You do. I know y'do." The boy concluded, removing his hand from the rifle and leaning back on his haunches, his glare still insisting. "Y'aint shot me once in a month, man- not once."

The Sniper's frown deepened; irritated by this onslaught of questioning and accusation. Of course he hadn't shot the kid- how in the hell _could_ he? Sure, it wouldn't do any permanent damage; but just to see the boy shout in pain- to see any harm done, albeit temporarily, under his hand, was a weight too painful to bear. And sure, Scout had fired at him numeral times in the midst of his murderous adrenaline. Killed him once, too, when he came hurdling up from behind and embedded shrapnel into his spine. The man didn't hold it against him. If anything, he commended Scout to be stronger than himself for working past the emotional luggage and just getting on with his job.

"_The cart has almost reached the final terminus!_" Came the announcer's voice rattling through the speakers, her tone shrill with anticipation.

They both broke the eye contact to behold the sight below them. Sure enough, the Blu Medic and Heavy were working as a team, slaughtering any opposition that dared get too close as they lumbered the bomb along the creaking rail track.

"Shit!" Sniper hissed, elbowing the Bostonian away from his side so he could have room to fire frantically after the hulk of ever-healing muscle. It was proving most un-effective.

Scout wasn't about to let the matter drop; not even for a potential victory at hand. "Look, pal- you might be happy to go on like this, pretendin' like nothing happened, but I ain't!" He bellowed over the din of commotion that was erupting from below. The noisy ruckus made it a hell of a lot easier to get out what he needed to say; the words could just expel all too naturally and he wouldn't have to cringe at the sound of each one. "I mean, shit, I ain't askin' much. Just a little freakin' _acknowledgement_ every now'n again!"

The Heavy wasn't going down, and the Medic took refuge on the far side of the cart, protected by the large steel shell. Sweat beaded at his forehead as he reloaded again, barely bringing the scope to his sunglasses before emptying the barrel once more.

"I mean, I ain't no queer or nothin', but I'd real appreciate if y'at least tried to keep in contact or something? Fuck, even if you'd shoot me I'd at least know you existed!"

The Medic was down, but the Heavy continued to haul the enormous cart onward. His body bleeding like a faucet, the majority of the Red team's attention was on him now- fighting exhaustedly to bring the hulk of a human being to his knees. He must've been 2, maybe 3 metres from the gaping aperture in the Earth. Bombs exploded around the Russian's ankles, dust kicked up as bullets scattered the vicinity.

"Hell, y'got any idea how freakin' lonely it gets? How many times I try t'find ya once a mission's over or some shit? And 'course, you ain't nowhere to be found. S'like you're avoiding me or somethin'!"

The last of his ammunition exploded from the eye of the rifle just in time to see the Heavy come crashing to the dusty ground like a fallen tree. But God, the cart had to be just inches from its destination. Another shove, even the slightest, and it would hurtle down into the depths of the Red Base. Blu members were accelerating toward the bomb fast, spurred on by the taste of Victory that was just one hard push away.

"Don't let 'em near that bloody bomb!" He heard himself holler down toward his team, entirely dismissive of the fact that he had a Blu member perched quite merrily alongside him and drawing attention wasn't likely the best of tactics.

"You fuckin' listening? You even hear a word I've been sayin'?!"

It was too late. The Blu Soldier collided with the metallic cart, flames immediately engulfing him as Pyro defended the last few centimetres of track, and the cart was knocked sufficiently. It slipped from the face of the Earth all-too demurely and disappeared into a shroud of darkness.

Sniper felt himself stiffen. Watching the last sheen of the metallic surface engulf in shadow, it occurred to him- they were situated pretty damn close to that cavernous pit. The walls of the room shook and rumbled as a brew of flames and shrapnel erupted with unfathomable force from the hole. Instinctively, he threw the rifle aside and tackled the boy to the ground, caging him with his body as he prepared for the full effect of the detonation.

Light filled the room, lucid and hot and unnatural, followed by hefty great lumps of concrete and dust clouds. Flames lapped at the balcony, immersing the two of them in an unbearable heat. Sniper shut his eyes tight enough to hurt, reminding himself that it would be over soon, his hands clenched into fists on either side of the cowering Scout.

The quakes ceased, and soon the inferno diminished and natural darkness returned to the room. The heat was still monumental, though, as fire smouldered from the cave in the Earth.

_"You've failed!"_ Came the abhorrent proclamation from the speakers above.

Sniper rose from the ground, pulling his body away from the huddled Bostonian, pain searing up the backs of his legs. He'd been burnt.

They were both panting; wide-eyed and hunched over as they waited for the scorching temperature to die down. Scout removed his headpiece and cap in one movement, the Announcer's triumphant voice crackling from the single earphone as it clattered to the floor. "_Victory_!" He pulled himself to his shaking feet and stepped cautiously over to the balcony's railing. A blackened scar tore across the ground below, smoking and glowing from the aftermath. Bodies were strewn across the Base; predominantly of Red's, groaning in anguish and vaporising as they slipped into unconsciousness and returned to Spawn.

A snapping sound, and he turned to face his opposing companion, whose rifle had just become defunct. Sniper tossed the heavy firearm aside, along with his machete, and watched as they disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Abandoning him to the ruthless bloodbath that came with the disgrace of defeat. He raised his hands to the boy, in good-humoured surrender.

"I'd say 'good game'," he began, "but then again, you did absolutely sod-all, 'part from steal from you own-"

His rambling was cut-off as the young Blu's hand fisted a handful of his jacket and yanked him into a teeth-clashing kiss. He felt himself fall backwards, but fortunately came into contact with the wall behind. Sniper barely had time to organise his limbs before the kid was straddling his lap, a hand on each shoulder as he pressed the man against the surface of the wall. His strength was surprising, and Sniper fought to keep himself free of the boy's white-knuckled grip. As the panic subsided and Sniper accustomed to the onslaught, he found himself quickly melting into the familiar feeling of the boy's warm body against his own. He slackened his defensive grip on the boy's arms and allowed Scout access to his self.

"Th'door…" he managed to utter around the young man's mouth. "S'open.."

There was a moment of uncertainty where the Sniper was sure the kid hadn't even been listening, before the Blue abandoned his assault in an aggravated huff and gave the metal door an all-too dramatic kick. The solid door came crashing into it's frame, the thunderous clang of metal-on-metal.

"Nice. Subtle." The Australian sighed, his good-humour bordering on irritation as he awkwardly lifted himself from the ground. "Does your sense of composure know no bounds-?"

"No, you ain't fucking going nowhere." Scout hissed in what Sniper could only recognise as panic as he watched the older man rise to his feet. "I'm riskin' way too much just being here, so you're gonna sit y'er ass down and lemme do what I need'ta do…" The taut assertion in his voice wavered, unused to the authority.

A frown lowered across his face and the Sniper shifted himself back to the floor; not so much in compliance than in curiosity, the gentle tug of a smirk pulling at his lips. The boy positioned himself back into the man's lap and claimed his mouth with his own, hips grinding uncontrollably into the sniper's abdomen. It wasn't long before the Australian could feel his own excitement straining against his trousers. He took the scout's hips into his grip and lowered the boy until he was sat squarely atop his hardening erection. The Blue groaned as arousal clouded his thoughts and principles, closing his eyes and allowing his hands to feel their way lower down Sniper's body. He pressed his forehead into the crook of the other's shoulder and began hurriedly unfastening the man's belt buckle.

Sniper raised his hand to the scout's hair, running his finger's through the short crop encouragingly. After weeks of telling himself otherwise, the need for this intimacy was beginning to hit home. He took the boy's chin between thumb and forefinger and kissed slowly, trying to convey his need. He doubted it at this stage, but he really couldn't have the scout getting last-minute withdrawal. Scout's hands found their way into his open trousers and gripped tentatively around his length. The boy suddenly broke the kiss in a decisive manner and shifted backwards, before lowering himself onto his elbows across the sniper's crotch.

The Red heard himself give a sharp inhalation. "Fuck, yes, that's it…" he breathed, opening his legs wider to give the boy space. He wanted so damn badly to grip the scout's hair, push his open mouth down across his dick. To hear him choke, and then to push further. Feeling every inch of that warm, wet throat.

But he didn't. He couldn't; he wanted Scout to do it of his own accord. The boy's comfort was a priority, as much as he wanted not to think that way.

Scout's heady authority had subdued, leaving him in a state of nervous tension. He hesitated for a moment, before tentatively leaning forwards, allowing his lips to sink across the head and further down the shaft. It was an alien feeling, the way it glided along his tongue and hit the back of his throat. He almost lurched, trying to control the need to gag, but still pressed on, allowing Sniper's cock to push down to the hilt. Swallowing further and further, challenging each inch at a time. He felt a hand tug gently at his hair, stopping him in his tracks.

"Feels great, Boyo. But it's not porn…" came the soothing voice, mildly hoarse with arousal. "You're gonna choke going at it like that."

Scout pulled back, taking a lungful of air that he had no idea he had needed. "I know, a'ight? I know what I'm freakin' doing…"

Sniper gave a weary sigh, knowing full well that getting such a noisy little gobshite to keep his mouth busy on anything but talking for any period of time was going to be difficult. He combed his fingers through the kid's hair again, coaxing him to settle, and the Bostonian leaned in once more and continued his work. He was trying to recall the methods that worked best on himself; running his tongue along underneath with each movement, swallowing around the head and stroking the base of the shaft lightly. He became so lost in concentration that he didn't notice the raspy breaths from above, increasing in loudness. Scout picked up speed, lifting his body slightly to get better access. He rose and sank rapidly, humming quietly around the length. Giving oral to another man was turning out to be far from the awful idea he had pictured in his mind before.

Suddenly, a hand across his cheek. "Gon' cum…" the older man shuddered, eyes shut fast and teeth clenched.

His movements slowed as the words dawned on him. He certainly hadn't planned this far. What was he even to do? The notion of swallowing was an off-putting one. But before he could remove himself, Sniper stifled a groan and the sensation of warm liquid filled his mouth. He tore himself away in horror and scrambled a few feet before opening his mouth and allowing the fluid to dribble onto the ground.

"Fucking gross, kid…" Sniper panted, cheeks flushed as he pulled himself together.

The boy spat onto the floor, attempting to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "S'_your_ cum…" was all he was able to choke out before returning to his grimacing. He felt sober again, and was suddenly all too aware of what he had just carried out. Scout would be lying if he said he wasn't mildly ashamed. The sour taste in his mouth combined with that of the knotting in his stomach and he began feeling queasy.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and pulled him to face the Red team member. The man gave an indistinguishable mumble in the tone of an apology as he used the back of his sleeve to wipe at the sides of the scout's mouth, who all too uncharacteristically knelt there and allowed the grooming. "That felt great," the sniper commended in a deep whisper, smirking as the boy responded with a look of mortification. He gave Scout a chaste kiss against his now-clean mouth and pulled away, climbing to his feet and zipping up his trouser front.

"We may as well wade out the last few minutes of the game up here- 'til your team gets called back to HQ, that is… don't much fancy getting shot between the eyes on my way back to Base…" Sniper stated, brushing down the backs of his painfully sore legs and wiping the lenses of his sunglasses on the fabric of his shirt front. There came no response, so he glanced in the boy's direction, who was still kneeling on the floor. The look of dejection on his face was apparent and Sniper wished he hadn't noticed it. He couldn't bear to see him that way and felt so horribly guilty about it. "No use moping about it, Mongrel. You know this ain't gonna work. Today was a one-off, aw'right? We got lucky… We seem to run on damned luck." He lowered the rim of his hat over his eyes, leaning forwards and scooping the scout's cap and headpiece from the floor. "And the fact I ignore you's got nought to do with how I feel, y'understand? We're bleeding fortunate nothing's come of this situation of ours yet, I dun' wanna push it."

Scout hoisted himself slowly and wearily, taking his head-wear from the sniper and shifting it across his hair. "So you're cool with that, are ya'?" He responded, just a mild hint of agitation in his voice. "Actin' like there's nothing going on. Not speak to each other. Like the whole thing didn't happened." His hands were raised in a declarative expression. There was something horribly final to his words; but there was little else to say.

The response formed on his tongue naturally. Yes. Of course he was fine with that; his job was a priority. But he held his mouth shut and took a moment to actually consider the statement. No- he wasn't happy about it. He'd racked his brain multiple times though, over the weeks, trying to think up a safe way about seeing the boy again. Continuing the relationship, as fucked-up and abnormal as it was. He'd had a sort of idea at one point- but not spent much time pondering it. It was a dangerous notion and not one worth dwelling on. But perhaps he could offer it as an empty promise. To tide the kid over. Prevent any more lethal situations like the one they were in at that moment. "Spring's almost over. Maybe- _maybe- _we could meet up some time when we're on break for the summer. How's that?" He couldn't lie, it was painful to say, knowing how little of it was solid.

The grin broke wide, cracking the melancholy expression. Scout glanced down to the floor with a snort to stifle his evident happiness. "Sounds good, yeah. I could do that." He said, hands resting on his hips. "S'long as I ain't been kicked off the team by that point. Even if I have, I s'pose it makes meeting up all the less dangerous, yeah? No reason why a Red can't see an ex-Blu, ammiright?"

Sniper gave a quiet chuckle, but didn't reply. Professionalism, at this point, was ancient history. No amount of straight-shooting could make up for what Spy and Medic thought of him. Of what he thought of himself. His record was tainted, so why not keep the ball rolling? What was living if you didn't take a risk. Or multiple risks, it would seem. "Right." He attempted a smile.

Suddenly, "ALL MEMBERS, RETURN TO BASE," the shrill voice erupted out of Scout's headphone. The boy jumped as the peace shattered and his scattergun clicked out of function.

Taking a sobering deep breath, Sniper turned to the door. "You'd best go first. Can't be seen together…" he mumbled, reaching for the handle.

"Oh shit, hold on one sec," Scout's panicky voice came form behind, and the Australian turned to see the boy reaching into his back pocket and fumbling awkwardly with the material. He pulled out a shred of magazine, dirty and tattered with the unmistakeable brown stains of dried blood. "Sorry, I've had it back there for a couple weeks," the boy cringed, unfolding the paper and smoothing it out. He handed it over somewhat sheepishly and Sniper gave him a dubious expression as he slowly reached out and took it in his hand.

Lifting it to the light, it was immediately apparent what was scribbled across the thin scrap. Written in scrawling block letters in ink not quite dark enough to stand out from the print beneath was the scout's home address. He wrinkled his nose. "You know I can't take this. If they find-"

"You- you can just keep it hidden. Yeah? Nobody has to know. Only contact it in the summer and you're back in Australasia or summin', cos' I know how they monitor the mail 'round here," he said quickly and assertively, trying to get the words out before he became too humiliated.

"'Australia'…" Sniper corrected in a barely audible mutter as he studied the paper. Refolding it, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. He would have to find a more suitable place for it later- if worry hadn't gotten the better or him and he'd binned it by that point. It was the kind of information that was deadly to wield. He could only begin to imagine the kind of destruction that would occur if Spy got his hands on it.

"Ryan Marino. Gotta put that on the envelope or Ma's just gonna go ahead n' open it."

Sniper quirked a brow and looked over to the Blu. "That's… your name?"

Chewing his lip, Scout upheld a nonchalant expression. It was evidently forced. "Yeah…" he smirked a little, before his expression turned stoney. "You don't have to tell me yours!"

"Wasn't planning on it."

"It's just… so you know." He looked away, rubbing his clammy hands together. His heart was pounding painfully in his ribcage and he wasn't sure how much redder his face could get before he downright exploded.

The silence rolled, neither knowing where to look or what to say. Sniper shuffled awkwardly, pushing the sunglasses further onto the bridge of his nose. Despite how dreadful he felt for not reciprocating the boy's sentiment- which had clearly taken a lot of gumption to reveal; they really needed to get moving. He brushed his torso down to appear casual, despite the building tension inside himself, "we got to, uh.."

"yeah, yeah, I know. It's cool," Scout stated, moving spritely to the door and swinging it open- after a quick glance of the vacant area beyond. "If you don't see me at the next battle, it's cos Spy's gone'n knifed me or some shit after that stunt I pulled," he gave an uncomfortable laugh; suddenly all too aware of the consequences he had to now face.

"I'll keep that in mind," the sniper smiled the same worried smile.

"Guess I'll see ya', then," the boy finalised, offering one last lopsided grin, before descending to steel staircase leading towards the lower levels of the fort.

His footsteps were heavy and the noise rebounded from what seemed like every surface. Sniper knew stealth wasn't one of the kid's strongest assets. He listened as the sound become increasingly distant. It would be a mere 3 days until they saw each other once again on the battlefield; but months before they would have the opportunity to speak. It was a painful concept. He wasn't entirely sure how much of what they had discussed would actually materialise. It wasn't the first time opposing team members had attempted to carry out a friendship outside of their stifling little world; and their stories told of little success. It didn't give their situation much hope- but then again, what hope was there for a men like him? He had made the decision a long time ago between a steady marriage and a life like this, and there was no returning from it. He needed the thrill, the exhilaration that only a job such as this one could offer. Scout gave him that fast-paced adrenalized feeling that he thought belonged only to those moments between himself and his rifle. With so little to lose, he wasn't about to give that up without a fight.

Sniper watched as the figure below disappeared into the sunlit doorway all those flight's down, and he exited the balcony himself. Calmly walking the steps downwards with his steady-footed pace. "Ryan," he murmured to himself, less than a breath. It really was the final piece. There was no denying it anymore. This thing wasn't going to be ending any time soon.


End file.
